


When

by whalefairyfandom12



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, And Viktor's still the living legend (or on his way there), Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Mutual Pining, Racism, Underage Drinking, they still skate though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10030448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalefairyfandom12/pseuds/whalefairyfandom12
Summary: “I think I’m dating Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri said weakly.Phichit’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “You what?”“Yuri Plisetsky just paid me three hundred dollars in exchange for dating Viktor.” Phichit burst out laughing. “It’s not funny Phichit!”“Oh come on,” the boy wheezed. “Yurio thought that you, the biggest Nikiforov fanboy to ever fanboy, would need incentive to date him? It’s kind of funny.”::When Yurio is banned from dating until Viktor, his rink mate and the school playboy, finally settles down, the only logical solution is to hire someone to date him. Enter Yuuri Katsuki, the world's quietest wallflower and Viktor's not so secret fan. Yuuri's not sure how he ends up in these messes but he thinks it's probably Phichit's fault. As for Viktor, he's made it his mission to avoid Yuuri as much as possible, but fate (and Yuri Plisetsky) seem to have other ideas entirely.





	1. Never Been in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is loosely based on 10 Things I Hate About You/The Taming of the Shrew and the song When by dodie. The rating may change eventually, and everyone is the same age (or thereabouts) and aged down/up to be in high school. I hope you enjoy!

    Viktor Nikiforov was a playboy.

    He broke a new heart every day and brought someone new to his bed each night.

    He couldn’t be tied down--didn't _want_ to be tied down, and that's why he never dated.

    He was so beautiful he was offered sponsorships in modeling, but had to turn it down for his career in figure skating which was why he was filthy rich.

    He’d cut his hair at the beginning of the year because that's what he did; he surprised people and no one ever saw it coming.

    They say you can buy the discarded hair online for no less than two thousand dollars a strand--at least, according the gossip section on the school’s official Instagram.

    In Yuri Plisetsky’s opinion, Viktor Nikiforov was an asshole with an attitude problem and gray hair that made him look like an old man. (He was the only one allowed to insult Viktor, though, and despite his claims to the contrary he was prepared to fight anyone who did.)

    Yuuri Katsuki, on the other hand, was a wallflower.

    He didn’t speak English, and that's why he never talked to anyone.

    He always had a smile for each passing stranger, but anyone who asked him out was so thoroughly rejected that eventually they stopped asking.

    He'd earned the nicknames Piggy and Katusdon after announcing to his English class that pork cutlet bowls were what eros meant to him.

    He skated too, but he wasn’t as good as Viktor because how could a Jap ever compare to a God?

    They say you can find him watching Viktor while he practices; that he’s obsessed with Viktor and probably owns strands of his hair--at least, according to everyone who matters.

   Yuri Plisetsky had first noticed Yuuri Katsuki’s skating when he was eight, and from the beginning he had been captivated by the boy’s step sequences. The accusations that he was a second rate skater were completely unfounded, and if Yuri had used to have a bit of a celebrity crush well, that was nobody’s business.

    According to all logic, Viktor and Yuuri were opposites in every way and had nothing in common.

    Ergo, they would make a perfect couple.

   “Wait. I'm confused,” Otabek interjected. “How are they perfect?”

    Yuri rolled his eyes. “Opposites attract, right? All that other bullshit is just rumors. Katsudon’s English is better than mine and Viktor’s too much of a dork to be a playboy.”

    “Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe it would be better if we just...let it be.”

    “Trust me. Viktor’s not dating anyone without a nudge, and I can’t until he does.

    “Maybe Yakov will change his mind?”

    Yuri shook his head. He’d come to America to live with Viktor, Yakov, and Lilia to train and attend school. It was there he’d met Otabek Altin, and just when it seemed like they might be on their way to something a little more than friends, Yakov and Lilia dropped the news that until Viktor found someone he was ‘going steady’ with, Yuri wasn't dating anyone. Lilia seemed to think it would interfere with their training, and Yakov had agreed.

    No amount of railing had convinced them to reconsider. They all knew damn good and well that the chances of Viktor going steady with _anyone_ were next to nothing, but Yuri was determined to change that. The threats hadn't stopped there, though. Unless Viktor agreed to go to prom to chaperone Yuri, that was out too.

    “You heard Yakov,” Yuri said. “Did he sound like someone who’d change his mind to you?”

   “...No. But it’s like everyone says. Viktor hasn't been interested in anyone for years. What makes you think Katsuki’s going to be any different?”

    Yuri smirked, tapping the back of his phone. “Because I know something those idiots don’t. Prom’s at the end of May, so we have until then to make it work. There’s no way Viktor’s going unless Yuuri is.”

    Otabek frowned. “Why would he care?”

   “You'll see. They're the only people stupid enough not to remember--” Yuri stopped mid sentence, gaze flickering to the door in warning. Viktor stumbled into the living room, hair disheveled and sweatshirt stained with God knew what. If only his fan club could see him now. “Oi! Viktor! How do you feel about Yuuri Katsuki?”

    Viktor reached for his reading glasses, tucking them in his pocket and turning to face Yuri and Otabek with a distant expression. “What?”

    Yuri sighed, gritting his teeth. Damn Viktor and his airheadedness. “Yuuri Katsuki. Glasses, black hair, skates with us sometimes.” His rink mate stared at him blankly. “Honestly, how you've made it this far in life is beyond me. He--”

   “I know who he is,” Viktor interrupted, much to Yuri’s surprise. “What does he have to do with anything?”

    “Answer the question.”

   Viktor shrugged. “I like him? I don't know, we don’t really know each other.”

    “Do you think he’s cute?” Otabek asked. Yuri frowned, elbowing him in the ribs. Beka had many great qualities, but subtlety was not one of them,

   Viktor looked bemused. “What's with the sudden interest in my love life?”

    “Is that a yes?” Yuri wasn't sure if he was pushing too much, but he might as well take advantage of Otabek’s bluntness.

   “I guess? Why do you want to know?”

   “No reason,” he said dismissively, snatching the first conversation topic he could think of. “Where did you go after the Crispino’s last night? Because everyone’s saying you and Mila--”

   Viktor ran a hand through his hair, blue eyes suddenly looking far wearier than they should be at seventeen. “I know what they're saying.”

     Yuri scrunched up his nose. Otabek always told him the face reminded him of an angry kitten, but kittens were badass and no one could pull off the hairy eyeball quite like he could. “Then why don't you say something? We both know that's not what happened.”

   Viktor smiled humorlessly. “Does it matter? We both know what they'd say.”

   “It _matters_ because they're ruining your reputation.”

   “Yura! You do care!”

    Yuri scowled. “Don't change the subject, old man. Right now everyone perceives you as somewhat…”

    “Flirtatious?”

    “‘Slut’ is the term used most often.” Something flickered in Viktor’s expression, lingering just long enough for Yuri to see. “Don’t pretend it doesn't bother you. What are you so afraid of?”

    Viktor’s eyes flashed, the blue looking less like an ocean and more like a hurricane. “I told you I’m not having this conversation.”  

   “But--” Otabek grabbed his arm, shaking his head in warning. For once, Yuri did as he was told and shut up.

   “I’m sorry about Yakov--”

   “Sure you are,” Yuri sneered.

   Viktor frowned. “I _am._ But I make it a point to not do anything solely because of other people.”

   “That's bullshit and you know it. Everything you do is to surprise people. There's nothing wrong with being afraid, but being too scared to own up to it is what makes you pathetic.”

   Viktor’s expression was unreadable, knuckles white where they gripped his glasses. In one, calculated gesture the patented _Viktor Nikiforov Smile_ _tm_ pulled on the corners of his lips, and he yawned too loudly to be genuine. Yuri hated it. Hated him. “Wow! When did it get so late? Well, I’m off to bed! Make good choices!”

    Without another word he spun on his heel and disappeared upstairs, turning off the light and leaving the challenge unanswered and room dark.

     Otabek glanced at Yuri. The boy was shaking, cheeks flushed with anger and eyes dark. “That--that _idiot_.”

   Still watching him carefully, Otabek reached out a tentative hand and resting it on Yuri's shoulder. “He never fights back, does he?”

    At that, all the tension drained from his spine. He deflated, head dropping to the ground. “No. He never even tries.”

* * *

    Everyone knew that if you wanted to know anything about Yuuri Katsuki Phichit Chulanont was the man to ask. Phichit had dirt on everyone, and his position as admin for the school’s Instagram put him in a position of subtle (but terrifying) power.

    As such, most people contacted Phichit for blackmail material or to pay him to delete various incriminating photographs. Yuuri was well aware of his friend’s hobbies, but he tried to stay out of it as much as possible. So when Phichit told him the Russian Punk had requested a meeting, Yuuri had braced himself for an afternoon of yelling and headed outside. Whether it was good natured or not, Yurio was infamous for his lack of an inside voice.

    As promised, Yuri Plisetsky was waiting by the gym doors--hood pulled over his eyes and arms crossed. Yuuri had to hide his smile at the familiar sight of Yurio’s leopard print converse. Though the boy’s bluster had intimidated him the first time they'd met and he liked to pretend he never cared, underneath it all Yurio wasn’t anything like the persona he projected.

   “Hi Yuri,” he said, smiling. “How are you?”

   The Russian Punk lifted his head, eyes meeting Yuuri’s squarely. “I want you to date Viktor,” he said brusquely.

  Yuuri choked. Really, by now nothing should be able to surprise him, but this is beyond shock. It gives him a heart attack. “V--Viktor Nikiforov?”

   “No, the other Viktor that goes here. _Yes_ Viktor Nikiforov.”

  “...What?”

   Yurio sighed, shoving his hand into his pocket. He emerged a few seconds later, waving a wad of cash in Yuuri’s face. “Here.”

  “What’s this for?”

   “Compensation,” Yurio said, looking like the words were painful to get out.

   “Y--You want to pay me to go out with Viktor?”

   “What else would I be giving you money for? It’s two hundred, but I’ll pay you more for each date.”

    The thought that someone would need compensation to date _Viktor Nikiforov_ was laughable at best. Viktor was the Living Legend of Figure Skating, and Yuuri was a dime a dozen skater who hadn't even qualified for the Grand Prix Final. If either of them needed compensation it should be Viktor. “Why me?”

    “I can't date until Viktor does.”

    “And that’s a problem how?”

    “Because despite what you and every other asshole seem to think, Viktor hasn't dated anyone since freshman year.”

    The world stopped. “But why--”

    “You’re exactly the type of person he likes and I know you won’t give up the minute he saying something irritating. As in every time he opens mouth. And,” Yurio’s voice dropped until it was nearly inaudible. “You’re the only person I trust not to hurt him.”

    Yuuri felt his heart sink. Whatever Yurio might say, he was sure the moment they got to know each other any illusions of Yuuri’s attractiveness would vanish. Yuuri wasn’t even Yuuri’s type, how was he supposed to believe he could be Viktor’s? “Yurio...I can't--”

    “Fine. Three hundred then.” Before he could stammer another protest, Yurio had shoved the money in his hands and stalked away. “I'll be watching you Katsudon. A deal’s a deal! No going back on your word.”

    Yuuri stared after his retreating form, mouth flapping open and closed wordlessly. The money Yurio had given him was limp in his hands, and there was a curious buzzing in his ears. Did Yurio think he and Viktor were dating now? Oh god, did _Viktor_ think they were dating? Did Viktor even want to date him? But why else would Yurio give him the money? What would everyone think?

    Did Yuuri want to date Viktor?

    He admired him, sure, but he was a figure skater so that wasn’t unusual. And he would be lying if he said he’d never entertained the thought before. Viktor was attractive, everyone knew that, so again, not too strange. But the idea of actually dating him...

    He squeezed his eyes shut, hand fluttering to his pulse. It raced underneath his fingertips and he stumbled to the ground, burying his face in his hands. His glasses had tumbled from his nose and the grass was damp beneath his knees, but all those were second to the growing lump at the base of his throat. He forced himself to breathe, exhaling through quivering lips until the pressure behind his chest had receded and he felt less like throwing up.

    His name was Yuuri Katsuki, he was seventeen, and he was going to be okay.

    Only two of those things were completely true, but his therapist had recommended lumping positive thinking with undeniable facts until they became one and the same. It hadn’t worked so far, but sometimes if he tried hard enough he could almost believe it had.

 

    Phichit found him there some time later.

    He sat beside him silently, handing him his glasses and leaning against his shoulder. His gaze was sharp and tempered by concern when it finally met Yuuri’s. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, Yuuri.”

    Yuuri forced himself to unfreeze, looking at his friend with what could only be described as abject horror. “I think I’m dating Viktor Nikiforov,” he said weakly.

    Phichit’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “You what?”

    He made a helpless sort of gesture that was reminiscent of a fish out of water. The more he repeated it the more ludicrous it sounded. “Yuri Plisetsky just paid me three hundred dollars in exchange for dating Viktor.” Phichit burst out laughing. “It’s not funny Phichit!”

    “Oh come on,” the boy wheezed. “Yurio thought that you, the biggest Nikiforov fanboy to ever fanboy, would need incentive to date him? It’s kind of funny.”

   The words tumbled out all at once, running together and stumbling over Yuuri’s tongue. “He started telling me that Viktor hasn’t dated anyone since Freshman year and that I’m his type and that he can’t date until Viktor does so he wants to pay _me_ to. He shoved a bunch of money in my hands and walked away before I could say anything but I think he took that as a yes and I don’t know what to do.”

    Phichit sighed, patting him on the arm. “Oh Yuuri,” he said sympathetically. “Only you could start dating your idol and not know it.”

    Yuuri tucked his knees to his chest, looking up at him miserably. “Are we dating?”

    “Do you want to be?”

    “I don’t know. We don’t really know each other.”

    “Maybe you could start by getting to know him, then?” Phichit suggested. “It won’t hurt anything, and you can make a decision after that. You did take the money, but that doesn’t mean you have to do anything right away. Or ever. I’m sure you could give it back.”

   Yurio’s voice rattled in his ears _“No going back on your word!”_ and Yuuri managed a grim sort of chuckle. “I don’t think so.”

    “We’ll figure it out,” Phichit promised. “Living Legend or not, I'll castrate Viktor with a potato peeler if he hurts you.”

    Conversations like these made Yuuri very grateful Phichit was his friend. “I don't think that'll be necessary, but thank you.”

    Phichit sighed dramatically. “Fine. Castration aside, can I do anything to help?”

    Yuuri pulled out his phone, checking the time. The cafeteria was the hub of gossip, and if he really was going to make a move now would be the best time. Phichit had a point, there really wasn’t anything wrong with getting to know Vikor, right? It wasn’t like he stood a chance anyway, so what was it going to hurt?

     “Can you do me a favor?” he asked, unlocking his phone and handing it to his friend. “I need you to call someone.”    

* * *

    Viktor had been lying when he’d told Yurio he thought Yuuri Katsuki was cute.

   Yuuri wasn’t cute. He was a pork cutlet bowl fatale that enthralled men and women alike. And probably aliens too, if there were any in Detroit.

    Therefore he was dangerous and should be avoided at all costs. Viktor had had enough experience with the dangers of infatuation and brown eyes to know that going anywhere near Yuuri was a terrible idea. Despite being the school’s playboy, Viktor seemed to be the one who whose heart always shattered in the end. It was best to stay away from these sorts of things before history had a chance to repeat itself.

    Although it was a shame Yuuri hadn’t seemed to get the memo.

    The lunch table was filled with the usual crowd, Chris sitting to his left as always with Yurio on the right followed by Otabek. Chris was asking Viktor something about the biology assignment, but Viktor had long since stopped listening. On the other side of the cafeteria Michele Crispino was locked in a heated argument with Emil Nekola, Sara Crispino sandwiched uncomfortably between the two. Mila Babicheva walked past the trio, eyes darting between Michele and Emil who were too busy fighting to see her grab Sara and disappear around the corner. Viktor wondered how long it would take Michele to realize his 'precious, beautiful baby sister' had been having sex under his nose all this time.

    “Viktor?” Chris waved a hand in front of his face, snapping his fingers. “Was that a yes?”

    He started, disguising the action by pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders. “Absolutely,” he said cheerily, smiling brightly the way he does to cover his lapses in attention. “Definitely.”

    “You weren’t listening, were you?”

    “No.” The problem, he decided, with being friends with Chris was that they’d known each other for so long it was impossible to get anything past him. “Sorry.”

    Chris waved the apology aside. “Please. Being friends with you? We’re all used to repeating ourselves seventeen times before it gets through. I was saying a friend had asked if he could sit with us today. Is that okay with you?”

    “You don’t have to ask, you know.”

    “I know. He’s just...a little quiet so don't say anything that could scare him. He’s cute, but shy. I think you’ll like him.”

    Viktor sighed. “Chris, you know I’m not looking.”

     His friend smirked, nudging him in the ribs suggestively. “No, but I am. He’s on his way over right now.”

    Viktor followed his line of sight to see a tousled, dark, and painfully familiar head of hair. His throat went dry as his gaze drifted lower; brown eyes sparkling behind blue glasses and lips curled upwards in a gentle smile. Yuuri Katsuki came to a stop directly in front of him, cheeks flushing an adorable shade of red.

    “Hello,” he said shyly, waving. His free hand clutched a blue, poodle covered lunchbox, and Viktor swore he felt some part of his heart melt a little more. “Can I sit here?”

    “Of course,” Chris said smoothly, winking. He slid closer towards JJ, leaving the space between him and Viktor open. Yuuri bowed his head in thanks, Chris reaching out a hand and helping him into the seat. Yuuri squeaked, eyes wide, and Viktor could deduce that Chris’s hand had drifted a lot lower than his waist.

   “Thanks for letting me sit with you,” Yuuri said. He locked eyes with Viktor, and suddenly all the reasons he’d told himself he should stay away seemed to fly out of the window.

    “How do you know each other?” Viktor asked, searching for any way to find out why Yuuri was sitting with Chris and if that meant they were dating, even though it wasn’t any of his business and he didn’t care anyway.

    Chris gave him a strange look. “He sits behind us in English.”

    Viktor resisted the urge to punch himself in the face. Now it sounded like he didn’t know his own classmates and hadn’t thought Yuuri was worth his time. Which was far from the truth. He might be a little flighty, but he wasn’t completely oblivious. Just mostly. “I know. I meant how did you become friends?”

    Chris shrugged. “I texted him about the homework a few weeks ago, and from there we kept talking.”

    “Are you dating?” The question burst out before he could stop it, and Viktor cringed internally.

    Yuuri had managed to turn even redder, if such a thing were possible. “No! No, we’re just friends,” he said frantically, shaking his head with wide eyes. Viktor tried ignore the strange surge of relief Yuuri’s denial brought him, instead focusing his attention on taking another bite of soup.

    Chris pouted. “You hurt me Yuuri. Is it Phichit?”

    “What? No!”

    “Can you all shut up about Katsudon’s love life?” Yurio asked irritably. “Not all of us want to know what the pig gets up to on the weekends.”

    “Oh, I’m sure he’s _up_ to something alright.” Chris threw another lewd wink in Yuuri’s direction. “You know, if you ever want to take a break from studying English I’m sure we could make some arrangements to study anatomy.” Viktor groaned, casting a dirty look towards his friend. So much for him being the one to make Yuuri uncomfortable.

    The boy in question had looked in danger of sinking into the floor in embarrassment, but something darker flashed in his eyes and his eyelids drifted closed. The sight sparked something hazy in Viktor’s memory--something or someone he should be remembering but that drifted just out of reach.

    “Sorry Chris,” Yuuri said. Even his voice sounded different, sultry and warm and everything that shouldn’t send a shiver down Viktor’s spine but does anyway. He thinks he might be fucked. “I’m more into chemistry, and I don’t think we have what it takes to make it work.”

    Chris’s mouth fell open in shock but he shook it off, patting Yuuri on the shoulder with a low whistle. “Damn. I didn't know you had it in you. I'm proud." As Viktor watched Yuuri seemed to retreat back into himself, head ducking and the confidence vanishing from his posture. A thought crosses his mind then, that he wants to help Yuuri feel that confident all of the time.

    “Viktor was top of our chemistry class last year,” Chris continued, wisely ignoring the following glare Viktor threw his way. “I'm sure he could give you a _helping hand_.”

    “Do you have to make everything sound like an innuendo?” Viktor asked wearily.

   Chris gave him an innocent smile. “It's not my fault your head goes to some dark places.”

   “How's your short program coming, Viktor?” Yuuri asked, wisely changing the subject. “Congratulations on gold, by the way.”

   “Yeah yeah,” Yurio grumbled. “Whatever.” He slammed his glass on the table, scowling at Viktor with a challenge clear in his eyes. Viktor had a feeling he was still pissed about their conversation the night before. “Enjoy it while it lasts, old man. You'll be eating the ice come Nationals.”

    “Feisty words for such a tiny kitten.” Viktor turned the smile he reserved for press conferences and meeting fans on full power. He knew it annoyed the younger boy, and judging by the following growl it had worked yet again. “You're too easy to wind up.”

   “Fuck you,” Yurio spat.

   “I would fuck me too,” he agreed pleasantly.

    Yuuri’s laugh was better than any sound Viktor had ever heard; startled yet sweeter than anything he could ever taste and more treasured than all of his medals melted together. His eyes crinkled with pure mirth, the red and brown dancing together in a silent rhythm as warm and light hearted as his laughter. Viktor found he never wanted the moment to end.

    (He thinks there’s no way around it now--he’s definitely fucked and there's nowhere to go but down.)


	2. Date An Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t do it, Chris.”
> 
> “Do what?”
> 
> Viktor wrinkled his nose distastefully, collapsing on the bed with a dramatic sigh. He knew how ridiculous he was being--he was somewhat self aware but he felt entitled to a few seconds of melodrama. “Feelings.”
> 
> Chris looked distinctly unsympathetic, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “The Great Viktor Nikiforov, reduced to an emotional heap with the rest of us mere mortals.” 
> 
> “I feel like you’re enjoying my plight a little too much.” 
> 
> “Actually, I don’t think I’m enjoying it enough. Let me call Georgi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon homophobia and racism aren't the issues they are in the real world but I wanted to explore the impact they might have on the characters if they were. As such, warning for some homophobia/racism/general bigotry. Thank you so much for reading and for all the kudos and lovely comments :))
> 
> (Two edits from the last chapter--Yuuri is seventeen and the upcoming competition is Nationals, not Europeans. Sorry for the confusion!)  
> ~  
> Yuuri's FS: Sleeping Beauty Waltz - Tchaikovsky  
> Viktor's SP: Romance in F Major, Op. 11 - Dvorak

    News that Yuuri Katsuki had been seen with Viktor Nikiforov and Christophe Giacometti spread like wildfire. Changing lunch tables was not something you did unless the parties involved were dating, and that explanation didn’t make any sense. Yuuri wasn’t even attractive; his glasses were too big, his nose was too small, and his clothes weren’t remotely up to date. Viktor and Chris could have anyone they wanted so why would they pick _him_? He was probably just taking advantage and leeching off their popularity and fame to further his own selfish desires and--

    Phichit slammed his phone on the table, eyes dark and devoid of their usual humor. Yuuri frowned, looking up at him in surprise. “Is something wrong?”

    His friend smiled sweetly, holding out his hand. “Can I borrow your phone for a minute?”

    Yuuri fished said object out of his pocket, unlocking it and handing it over. “What are you doing?”

    “Deleting Instagram.”

    He would’ve started laughing, but for once Phichit sounded deadly serious. “Who are you and what have you done with Phichit Chulanont?”

    “You never use it anyway.”

    “I like your photos.”

    “Besides that.”

    “You’re always telling me to use it more.”

    Phichit handed his phone back, smiling tightly. “Some people are being stupid, but don’t worry about it. Although maybe you shouldn’t look for a while.”

    Yuuri sighed, fingers tapping against the back of his phone case. “Is this about lunch? I appreciate the concern, but it’s nothing I haven’t heard all week.”

    “Well they’re wrong,” Phichit said fiercely. “You know that, right? You _are_ talented and sexy and your glasses don’t look stupid and anyone who says that is just jealous.”

    Yuuri smiled. Logically he did know all of that, but it still helped to hear from someone else that he wasn’t a complete waste of space. “Thanks Phichit.”

    “I mean it. Your fanclub agrees with me too.”

    There’s no way he could’ve heard him correctly. It almost sounded like he’d said ‘fanclub.’ “My what?”

    Phichit coughed. “I said Leo, Guang Hong, and a few of us are going to Dobra. Do you want to come?”

    “I have practice, sorry.” It was harder to get rink time than he wished, and as such he had to take advantage of the times when he could. And there was the added bonus that Viktor was practicing before him and if he hurried he might be able to see the last few minutes.

   Phichit looked like he was trying to hide his smile. “Go see your boyfriend,” he said, making a shooing gesture. “If you finish early you know where to find us.”

   Yuuri bruised himself with packing his laptop, avoiding the boy’s knowing gaze. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

   “Yurio might think otherwise.”

   He slung his bag over his shoulder, backing away from the table. “I’ll see you later.”

   “Don't forget to take pictures!”

   “Goodbye Phichit.”

 

    Viktor was laying on the ice when Yuuri walked in. Logically, he knew that everyone fell sometimes, but that was one thing in theory and another to see happen to The Living Legend. Like a quiet Yurio or a Leo that hated music. Viktor rose gracefully, skating a few lazy laps before heading towards the exit.

    “What were you working on?”

    Viktor didn't look surprised to see him. He sighed, shrugging on his jacket with an air of what could only be described as defeat. “Quad flip,” he said shortly. Yuuri’s mouth fell open in shock. If Viktor landed a ratified jump in competition, he would be the first skater ever to do so and truly make history. “Don't get too excited. I haven’t landed it yet.”

    “You will,” Yuuri said confidently. He was sure of it. More certain than he'd ever been of his own abilities.

    “Thanks Yuuri. What about you? Are you feeling ready for Nationals?”

    “Um, actually I’m not going.”

    “What do you mean you’re not going? You qualified, didn’t you?”

    “I did, but this past season I completely failed on an international level.”

    “But you got silver at Skate America.”

    “And last place at the NHK Trophy. By a landslide.”

    Viktor rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “Everyone has off days. You're usually better than that.”

    Yuuri scoffed. “You don't need to flatter me.”

    “I'm serious.” Somehow the gap between he and Viktor had diminished to nothing, Viktor’s thumb brushing his lower lip. His breath hitched, and his fingers curled into his palm. “You have the skill to win, why can't you make it happen?”

    “I guess I just lack confidence,” Yuuri said sheepishly. “I always have.”

    Viktor nodded, looking strangely satisfied as he stepped back. “Exactly.” His pointer finger tapped against his mouth, eyes clear and analytical. Yuuri tried not to squirm under his gaze, edging towards the rink instead. Maybe if he moved slowly enough he could escape without further embarrassment.

    “Show me your free skate,” Viktor said suddenly, clapping his hands and skating back onto the ice.

    Viktor had a habit of flitting from one topic to another and expecting everyone to instinctively follow along. Yuuri found it equally charming and annoying. “What?”

    “Your problem is nerves, right? The only way to get better is to practice. Pretend I'm your coach.”

    Skating in front of crowds was one thing. Skating in front of his idol, for his idol, and with nowhere to hide when he inevitably messed up and disappointed him was another story entirely. “I haven't practiced in a while,” (lie) “--and you probably have more important things to do.” (True.)

    “I don’t.”

    He tried another tactic. “You don't have to if you don't want to. I don't mind.” In fact, he'd really prefer if he didn't.

    Viktor arched an eyebrow. “Are you arguing with your coach?” Yuuri’s mouth snapped shut, and he beamed. “That's what I thought. My phone’s already connected. I'll play the song whenever you're ready.”

   “How do you know my music?”

   Viktor glanced at him quizzically. “I told you. I've watched your programs.” Maybe that should’ve been reassuring, but he flashed back to his frankly humiliating performance at the NHK Trophy and shuddered.

    He kicked off his sneakers and slid into his skates, fingers trembling despite himself as he tied the laces. Viktor was waiting by the entrance by the time he’d finished, taking Yuuri’s skate guards and glasses and setting them on the railing.

    He moved aside and Yuuri slipped past him and onto the ice, slowly looping his way towards the center. Despite the looming pressure, there was always a unique sense of calm that only came from skating. That was always the way it worked; competing made his anxiety flare up yet it was one of the only things that could ground him.

    “Okay,” he said, exhaling. “I’m ready.” He flexed his fingers, one hand falling to rest behind his back and the other reaching to cradle his face. He closed his eyes, envisioning that he was fast asleep inside a castle and letting his jaw fall slack.

    The [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Sb8WCPjPDs) started and he began to move. He landed his first jump, a triple lutz triple loop combination a little shakier than he would've liked, but he tried to brush it off. He couldn’t afford to let his anxiety get the better of him this time,

    He forced himself to look anywhere but Viktor, instead listening to the sound of his blades against the ice and the feel of everything blurring as he spun.

    The music started to crescendo, and he readied himself for a triple flip. So far, his only quad was the toe loop and Celestino had suggested he make it the last jump for the points. He'd been practicing the salchow, but he hadn't been able to land it consistently so they'd left it out of his program.

    He doubted Viktor was the type of person to back down from a challenge. Even if it wasn't consistent, Viktor would've done the salchow anyway. Him learning the quad flip was proof enough of that.

    Something foreign had taken root in Yuuri’s mind, growing stronger with each passing second. He flowed through the choreographic sequence, the orchestra swelling with each movement. Viktor had watched him skate--was watching him skate. How many people could say that they'd captured Viktor’s attention? Even if only for a few minutes?

   The triple toe turned into a quad, and he entered the step sequence feeling more confident than he'd ever had skating this program. Viktor wanted to watch him? Yuuri would give him something he couldn't look away from.

    On a sudden whim of daring, he took off into a quadruple salchow. He knew from the takeoff that he wasn't going to land it cleanly, but he managed to stay upright by touching down, transitioning into his final spin. His skates were part of his body as he danced across the ice, arms outstretched and reaching for an invisible prince only to pull away at the last second.

    He would take as much of Viktor’s time as he could get and value it for as long as it lasted, but it was foolish to hope for anything more in the end. Almost as foolish as believing in True Love’s Kiss.

    The final notes of the song hung in the air, and Yuuri froze with his head tilted towards the ground, eyes open and hands pressed to his heart. His breath was coming in quiet pants through parted lips, and he ran a hand through his hair, pushing his sweaty bangs back off his forehead.

    When he’d finally gathered the courage to look up again, Viktor was staring at him wordlessly, expression studiously blank.

    “Viktor?” Silence. Yuuri panicked. Whatever burst of confidence he'd found had vanished, and his awkwardness was back full force. “I know I messed up on the salchow but that was only something I added after the season ended and--”

    “It's in the way you move,” Viktor interrupted. “Your soul sings, like your body is creating music. Yurio’s short program has an opposing theme, _In Regards To Love - Eros._ I choreographed the piece but never ended up using it because it didn’t fit me as a skater. But I think it would suit you really well if you were interested.”

    Yuuri blinked. “I couldn’t possibly--”

   “You need a high difficulty program to maximise your abilities,” Viktor said, tone firm and leaving no room for argument. “I’m the only one who can do that.”

    Until now, Yuuri had been certain he was going to quit competitive skating for good. He wasn't much use as a competitive skater if he couldn't compete, and the sport was too expensive to continue if he wasn't making the podium at a national and international level.

    But here was Viktor Nikiforov, looking at Yuuri as though he was worth something and possessed more talent than the lackluster skater he was. He’d not only complimented Yuuri on his skating, but offered to choreograph his short program for next season. Really, it wasn't a choice.

   “Then I accept,” he said, bowing his head. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

    Viktor grinned. “I won't go easy on you,” he warned. “That's how I show my love.”

    Yuuri blushed, skating towards the exit. Viktor was so _forward_ all of the time it was no wonder the world was in love with him. “You should show me your short program now. It's only fair.”

    Viktor lowered his gaze, looking pained. “Yurio’s waiting for me to pick him up from Otabek’s, sorry.”

    Yuuri swallowed, nodding. “Of course.” As he apparently had to keep reminding himself, he wasn't actually dating Viktor and he certainly didn't have a monopoly over his time.

    “Could we take a rain check on that though?”

    Yuuri smiled. “Yes!” he said a little too loudly, attempting in vain to dial back the enthusiasm. “I’ve always like watching you skate.”

    “I like watching you skate, too,” Viktor said. There was something odd about his expression; it seemed softer than usual and his eyes hadn't left Yuuri’s since he'd stepped onto the ice. Looking as if he were in a trance, Viktor reached out and brushed aside a loose strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes. “You should comb your hair back more often. It suits you.”

* * *

     The restaurant was buzzing by the time Yuuri arrived. Dobra had become their groups go to meetup spot, but in all the times he'd been here he wasn't sure it had ever been this busy. He caught sight of Phichit at a table in the back, and picked his way through the crowd carefully.

    To his surprise, he saw none other than Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin sitting next to Chris. He frowned. Viktor had told him he needed to leave to pick up Yurio, yet here the younger boy was and there was no Viktor in sight. The lie hurt more than he cared to admit, but at the sight of Phichit’s grin he forced it out of his mind.

    “Yuuri! How did practice go?”

    He took the empty seat beside his friend, shrinking under the sudden weight of everyone’s eyes. “Good. I'm working on the salchow.”

    Yurio snorted. “You’re still learning the _salchow?_ ” he asked incredulously.

    Phichit flashed him a reproachful look. “You don't have to be--”

    “I can teach you,” Yurio blurted. “To land it if you want.” He clamped a hand over his mouth, looking horrified. “I mean, you're a useless skater anyway so it doesn't make any difference.”

    Yuuri smiled. “Thanks Yurio. I'd really appreciate it.”

    The Russian Punk turned beet red, Otabek patting him on the arm consolingly. “Whatever, Katsudon,” he grumbled. “I'll still crush you at Worlds.” Yuuri didn't quite have the heart to tell him he wasn't going to be at Worlds, settling for a nod and another smile instead.

    “Your hair looks nice,” Leo said. Yuuri reached up to feel it self consciously. He hadn't bothered to fix it after slicking it back earlier, but he was starting to think that was a mistake.

    Phichit nudged him in the ribs. “I'm sure Viktor would like it,” he said far too loudly.

    Chris winked salaciously. “I know I like it. You look sexy.”

    Yuuri definitely should've fixed his hair.

   Otabek took pity on him, pushing the basket of fries closer. “We saved some for you.”

    “Thanks,” he said, dipping one in the pool of ketchup and shoving it in his mouth to prevent further conversation.

    “I asked Viktor if he wanted to come but he said he was busy,” Chris pouted.

     Yurio rolled his eyes. “Yakov wanted to ‘have a talk’ with him. Probably something about that ridiculous quad flip of his.”

    “A quad flip?” Guang Hong asked curiously. His eyes were wide in wonderment. “No one’s landed one before, right?” He sighed dreamily. “That's amazing.”

    Yurio’s nose wrinkled. “Yay,” he said sarcastically. “The old man’s learning a new jump. You wouldn’t think it was so great if you had to listen to his complaining every time he fell.”

    “Will any of you ever go for the axel?” Guang Hong asked eagerly.

    “He could.”

    With a start, Yuuri realized Yurio was pointing at him. He shook his head vigorously, sinking lower in his seat. “I can't even land the salchow.”

   “After that. The axel is your strongest jump,” Yurio said. “Everyone knows it.”

   “That'd be so cool Yuuri!” Phichit breathed. “You have to let me post a video of it.”

    First Viktor and now Yurio. Yuuri was starting to wonder if there was something in the water that gave Russians a warped view of his abilities. “I think I'm going to work on the other jumps first,” he said weakly. “Like the loop.”

    Yurio shrugged, reaching for another fry. “Suit yourself. But if I was you I wouldn’t be wasting my time on things like loops.”

    “Speaking of skating, did you see the new episode of _The King and the Skater_?” Phichit asked eagerly. _The King and the Skater_ was the first movie he’d ever seen (and consequently the first movie he’d shown Yuuri,) and due to the success of the franchise it had recently become a television series as well. “I know Yuuri and Chris have.”

    “I did.” Leo raised his hand.

    “Yura and I watched it,” Otabek said.

    “You did?” Phichit asked, sounding delighted. “You never told me you liked _The King and the Skater_!”

    Yurio’s ears turned red. “What?” he snapped. “I’m a skater. It has skating in it. It’s for _research_.”

    “What did you think?” Guang Hong asked.

    “I thought the soundtrack was really good,” Leo said. Otabek made a quiet noise of agreement, and within seconds the two were off on another conversation about the values of contemporary music versus classical.

    Yuuri was only half listening. The extent of his musical knowledge was what he needed to know for skating, namely the rules around music selections and none of which came in handy when talking with a DJ and a musician. Really, there wasn’t much he knew that wasn’t about to skating. Unbidden, he found his thoughts drifting to Viktor. He’d been skating for longer than Yuuri had, and he wondered if he felt the same confusion around skating and how it played into his future career. Probably not.

    After all, what could Viktor Nikiforov possibly have to worry about?

* * *

     Viktor wasn't sure what Mrs. Lew had been thinking when she’d suggested a field trip. Field trips never ended well, much less ones where they were practically given free roam over the entire city.

    Once she’d announced they were going to work in pairs, he rather pointedly did not turn and look at Yuuri, instead locking eyes with Chris. They usually paired up for projects, and he assumed that would be the case for--

    “The first group will be Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov.”

    The class tittered as quiet footsteps approached and lowered into the seat beside him. Yuuri’s face was bright red, and he was staring so intently at his textbooks it was a wonder he hadn’t burned a hole through them.

    Viktor wondered how much effort it would take to throw himself out the window. Typical, really. It was just his luck he'd get paired with the one person he was trying to avoid. But it was fine. He was almost eighteen years old and had won multiple gold medals. This not crush of his was nothing he couldn’t handle.

    He hoped.

* * *

     “I can’t do it, Chris.”

    “Do what?”

    Viktor wrinkled his nose distastefully, collapsing on the bed with a dramatic sigh. He knew how ridiculous he was being--he was somewhat self aware but he felt entitled to a few seconds of melodrama. “ _Feelings._ ”

    Chris looked distinctly unsympathetic, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “The Great Viktor Nikiforov, reduced to an emotional heap with the rest of us mere mortals.”

   “I feel like you’re enjoying my plight a little too much.”

    “Actually, I don’t think I’m enjoying it enough. Let me call Georgi.”

    Viktor lifted his head, glaring. “Don’t you dare.” The thing was, Chris was right and they both knew it. It had been far too long since he'd last had to deal with crushes or anything on that spectrum.

    Viktor’s entire existence had been devoted to skating since he could walk, and he was only just beginning to see the toll it was taking on the other areas of his life. He wondered in five, ten years if there would be anything of him left, or if he would've sacrificed it all for another gold medal or impossible jump. He wondered if it'd be worth it.

    “Come on. After all these years.” Chris made a satisfied sound, eyes flickering upwards reverently. “It’s the karma I need and you deserve.”

    Viktor settled for another groan, thunking his head against the mattress. “I don’t know what to _do_.”

    “None of us ever know what we’re doing,” his friend said wisely. “It’s about how well you fake it.”

    “Isn’t there some way to just make it stop?”

    Chris was silent. “Yuuri seems sweet,” he said finally. “Phichit says he’s ‘the literal definition of a cinnamon roll.’”

    “He is,” Viktor agreed.

    “Maybe this will be good for you. I can’t imagine _Yuuri Katsuki_ of all people would have ulterior motives.”

    Viktor’s first love had always been the ice. His heart races when he lands a jump and swells with the applause. The first and only time he’d ever pursued something else, well, there was a reason his hair was short now. “Maybe.”

    “Do you remember France?” Chris’s voice was fond, eyes faraway in memory.

    Viktor smiled. “Of course.” He’d been sixteen then, and high on his first victory in the senior division. Chris had accompanied him to France afterwards, and they’d spent two weeks getting drunk, eating an ordinate amount of food, learning French to impress the cute waiters, and just generally dicking around. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had that much fun.

    “I haven’t seen you that happy since then,” Chris said, words an eerie echo of his thoughts. “But sometimes when Yuuri’s around, you start to smile again.”

    “But what if he’s like Eli?” Viktor asked, the question barely above a whisper though it was the one that had been bothering him the most.

    “Then we hide his body somewhere no one will ever find it,” Chris said firmly. “But maybe he won’t be. Isn't he worth the risk?”

    Viktor made a noncommittal noise in response, but they both knew his mind was already made up.

* * *

     Instead of participating in gym class every Wednesday, Yuuri had special permission to take an extra ballet class with Minako-sensei. He’d heard that Viktor and Yurio did something similar but with Lilia Baranovskaya, Yakov’s ex-wife.

    Minako-sensei was diligent as an instructor, and despite her tendencies to whack him over the head with her newspaper she had become like another parent. She was the one who’d initially suggested he start skating, and for several years had been his biggest supporter, coach, and choreographer.

    He couldn’t imagine ever reaching such a level of familiarity with Ms. Baranovskaya, her sharp eyes, and even sharper tongue, and he admired the nerves of steel Yurio and Viktor must possess to take ballet under her tutelage.

    He let himself into the studio, taking off his shoes at the door. Minako-sensei had given him a key years ago, and when he couldn’t skate her studio was his preferred space to relax whenever he was feeling especially anxious.

    The practice room was empty when he peaked in and he flicked on the light, connecting his phone to the speakers. He hung his coat and scarf on the wall, taking off his glasses and setting them aside carefully. His ballet shoes were still stashed safely where he’d left them, and he reached for his phone, pressing play.

    The [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZTeavJ9frA) for Viktor’s short program began to play; a guilty pleasure he used to warm up when he was positive no one was around to watch.

    First, one arm outstretched towards nothing. A lonely figure moving across the ice, searching until the violin met the piano halfway. They rose and fell, side by side, only to pull apart and be pushed together. The violin breaking apart, the piano falling back into loneliness, each caught in the dangers of love but both unable to sing without the other by their side.

    Both Viktor’s short and free programs had something to do with love. While some could argue that his short program portrayed the happier side of love while the free showed the worst, Yuuri had always thought that both seemed impossibly lonely. Before, he’d assumed it was another role Viktor donned to surprise the audience, but now he was beginning to wonder.

    “Dvorak, huh.” He paused the song, rocking back on his heels and turning to face Minako-sensei. Her arms were crossed, leaning against the doorframe with a distinctly unimpressed expression.

    Yuuri flushed. “Maybe?” She paced the length of the room, eyeing him narrowly and muttering inaudibly. He shifted uncomfortably, hands lacing behind his back. There was no way she hadn’t heard about Nationals, and she wouldn’t be Minako without a lecture. How he was going to explain his decision he had no idea, but if the confrontation was inevitable it was better to get it over with sooner rather than later.

   “Well?” Minako-sensei clapped her hands, the sound echoing in the empty studio. “What are you standing there for? Your free leg’s sloppy. Take it again from the top.” There was a gentle, understanding to her gaze, though, and without saying anything Yuuri knew she could tell he wasn’t ready to talk about Nationals yet.

    He offered a smile in response, rewinding the song and beginning to dance.

* * *

     Yuuri was wearing a blue peacoat that brought out his glasses and a gray scarf pulled up around his mouth. He greeted Viktor with a quiet smile, cheeks dimpling adorably. “Hi.”

    “Hi,” Viktor said, suddenly feeling warm despite the blustery December air. “Are you ready to go?” Yuuri nodded, falling into step beside him as they headed down the street. Mrs. Lew had given them the hour before and after lunch to interview as many people as they could about the current political climate, and then compile their findings into an essay.

    In other words, the field trip was doomed to end in bloodshed before it’d even started.

    Detroit was more liberal than some, but given how turbulent the world had been lately it would be an impossible miracle if they made it out without any disagreements.

    “Do you have the questions?” Yuuri asked.

    Viktor nodded. “Do you want to interview or take notes?”

    “I’d rather take notes if that’s okay with you. I’m not very good at public speaking.”

    “I’m sure that’s not true.” He cast Yuuri a sidelong glance. “It seems to me that you think you’re a lot worse at things than you actually are.”

    Yuuri burrowed deeper into his scarf. “Thanks?”

    “If we’re going to be partners, I think we should take the time to learn some more about each other, don’t you?”

    “I guess?”

    “My thoughts exactly!” Viktor tapped his finger against his cheek thoughtfully. “I know! Have you had any lovers in the past?”

    Yuuri’s nose was turning pink. “N-No comment,” he stammered.

    “I remember my first lover. I was f--”

    “Stop!” Yuuri said frantically, shaking his head. “I don’t want to know.”

    Viktor shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

    They continued walking in silence, footsteps synchronized. Yuuri moved like a dancer, each step as purposeful as it was graceful. Viktor attended his ballet lessons, sure, but it was clear from Yuuri’s step sequences while skating and the way he moved in general that the other boy had devoted himself to dance as passionately as he had skating.

    “Do you want to pick the first person?’ Yuuri asked, breaking the quiet as they turned a corner and entered the main street.

    “What about her?” Viktor said, gesturing towards a woman with dark blonde hair. She was dressed in running clothes, but she was stopped at the crosswalk, waiting.

    “Okay.”

    He followed Yuuri in her direction, slipping into the familiar role of charismatic crowd pleaser. “Hello! My name is Viktor, and this is Yuuri. We’re students at Baxter Academy working on a project about politics and current social movements. Would we be able to ask you a few questions?”

    “Sure.” She pulled her earbuds out, shoving them in her pocket and looking at them expectantly.

    Viktor waited until Yuuri had his pen ready before starting. “How do you think this election has shaped the role media plays in politics?”

    “This is the first time a candidate has caused the buzz on social media that Trump did and has continued to do. I think this is a trend we’ll see in coming elections too. America treats Hollywood like royalty, and in that way it’s not so surprising that we elected an ex-reality show star.”

    Yuuri’s pen was scratching a mile a minute, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in concentration. It was more than a little endearing, but Viktor was a professional and eyeballing his partner was anything but.

    “What’s your stance on marriage equality?” he asked.

    “I think if two people love another they should be able to get married regardless of gender. Sexuality isn’t something you choose, and it’s ridiculous so many countries are still so conservative.”

    Personally speaking, Viktor certainly found it was much easier living in America and being out than it had been in Russia. It was part of the reason he was so glad Yurio was going to school in the states.

    Viktor had been fifteen when he’d started to push for a more androgynous look to his costumes. It had really taken off after growing out his hair, and after seeing the reaction from the government and the rest of the world he’d stubbornly stuck with it as a way of not so subtly flipping off the RSU. By then he’d already established his position as the top men’s figure skater, and there wasn’t much they could do except employ a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ attitude.

    He’d pretended it didn’t bother him, but in truth it had been extremely detrimental to his becoming confident in his sexuality. Eli’s attitude and actions hadn’t helped either. It wasn’t until meeting Chris that he’d started to feel more comfortable with dating men. He never wanted Yurio to have to deal with the same problems.

    Viktor cleared his throat, shaking off his musings. He wasn’t in Russia anymore, and gay marriage was legal in America. There was no reason he should still feel afraid of being himself. “Finally, what’s a current issue that you consider to be the most pressing and do you think President Trump is capable of solving it?”

    The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Probably the racial black/white conflict that’s been escalating recently. And no, I don’t think he’s capable of handling it. If anything I think he’s making it worse.”

    Viktor smiled. “Thank you for your time,” he said. “I hope you have a good day.” The woman nodded, putting her headphones back in and crossing the street with a final wave. “She seemed nice.”

    Yuuri made a noise of agreement, scanning his notebook. “I think I got everything.”

   Viktor peaked at his notes, resting his chin on his shoulder. The entire page was covered in meticulously organized notes, most of which looked like they were even color coordinated. “You know how I told you you have a habit of underestimating yourself? This is one of those cases. How many do we have left?”

    Yuuri squinted at the list, flipping it upside down. “That's one down, nine to go. Minimum.”

    “Your pick, this time.” If he had been working with Chris they probably would’ve been complaining about how much work was left, but instead he found he wanted to drag the afternoon out for as long as possible.

    Though he’d never admit to Chris he was actually enjoying himself for fear of never hearing the end of it, it only served to prove his point that Yuuri Katsuki never ceased to surprise him.

 

    The next eight people passed by in a haze of the same questions and variations on nearly identical answers. Viktor knew he should be paying more attention, but the way Yuuri held a pencil and his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks were far more fascinating than listening to another rant about taxes until the speaker was blue in the face.

    “We need one more and that’ll be ten,” Yuuri said. His scarf had started to come loose, pink mouth visible over the top of his collar. He licked his lips unconsciously, and Viktor’s stomach executed a perfect quadruple flip. “What about him?”

     The ‘him’ in question was an older man wearing a red sweatshirt and seated on a nearby bench. Viktor flashed him a smile as they approached. By now he’d said the speech so many times he could probably recite it in his sleep. “Good afternoon! My name is Viktor and this is Yuuri. We’re students at Baxter Academy working on a project about politics and current social movements. Would we be able to ask you a few questions?”

    The man’s eyes raked Yuuri’s form, lip curling. There was an all too familiar glint to his expression that immediately put Viktor on edge. “Hmm. You from China?”

    Yuuri’s pen hit the ground. “No.”

    “Korea?” He shook his head. The man’s scowl deepened. “Well, where the hell _are_ you from, then?”

    “America,” Yuuri said slowly, accenting the word.

    The man rolled his eyes. “But before that. Where are you _from_?”

    “I was born in Japan, but--”

    “So you’re an immigrant?”

    “My parents moved here when I was a year old.” Yuuri’s tone was impressively even, and if he was offended by anything that he was hearing he didn’t show it.

    The man smiled, pointer finger waggling in Yuuri’s direction and looking entirely too satisfied with himself. “China or Japan. I knew it.”

    Viktor frowned. He wasn't sure he liked the tone of voice the man was addressing Yuuri with. “Actually you said Korea before--”

    Yuuri elbowed him sharply, shaking his head. He turned back to the man with a smile. “So was that a yes to the interview?”

    The man sighed. “I _guess_ you can interview me,” he said, as if he were doing them some huge favor. A bigger favor would be coming just a little closer so he would be in perfect punching distance.

    “Viktor,” Yuuri said under his breath, nudging him with his foot. “The questions.”

    Viktor snapped to attention, flipping open his notebook and plastering on the icy smile he saved for homophobic reporters and Fox News. “How do you feel this election has shaped--”

    “Are you from Russia?” the man interrupted.

    “Yes.” Viktor found himself a step closer to Yuuri, eyes scanning the square for the easiest way out. They were both athletes, if worse came to worse they could probably take him down long enough to escape. “Is that going to be a problem?”

    “I love Russia. It’s a great country, strong, independent. I’m thrilled President Trump is working to strengthen our bonds with Putin.”

    The man was looking at Viktor expectantly. He coughed, hoping his tone didn't sound as icy as he thought it did. “Absolutely. So how do you feel this election has shaped the role the media plays in politics?”

    “Let me tell you what I think.” The man was eyeing Yuuri again, and it took every last ounce of willpower Viktor had not to tell him to fuck off. “I think these damn immigrants should fuck off back where they came from.” Yuuri went still beside him. “You’re coming into our country and taking our jobs and I say the sooner Trump deports you the better.”

    Viktor’s hand curled into a fist at his side, anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. He took a step forward, jaw clenched and eyes narrowing. He was stopped by Yuuri’s hand in his, tugging him backwards with a surprising amount of force.

    “Thank you for your time,” Yuuri said, voice clipped. “It was very informative.”

    “Why didn’t you let me say something?” Viktor demanded as soon as they were out of earshot. The question sounded angrier than he meant it to and Yuuri shrank under its force, pulling his hand away. “You shouldn’t have let him speak to you like that!”

    “We needed to hear an argument from both sides!” Yuuri said defensively. “Besides, it doesn’t bother me anymore. People say that kind of thing all the time.”

   The nonchalance in his tone bothered Viktor the most. This wasn’t anything that Yuuri should have to get used to. “People say lots of things, but that’s not the point. They shouldn’t feel like they can in the first place.”

    “I know,” Yuuri said calmly. “But there’s nothing I can do about it so there’s no point in getting angry.”

    Part of Viktor wanted to argue further, to tell Yuuri that unless you stood up for yourself you were only going to keep getting hurt. But that would make him a hypocrite and ultimately it was up to Yuuri how he chose to handle these situations. “I’m sorry for losing my temper,” he said at length. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do.”

    “I forgive you. And I do appreciate you sticking up for me.”

     Viktor would take a bullet for Yuuri, but he thought it might be a little soon to say so. “Do you want to break for lunch? We can do more afterwards, but I think we’ve earned it. We could find somewhere to sit?”

    Yuuri looked surprised. “You don't want to meet up with Chris?”

    He tried not to feel too disappointed. “I didn't think of that, sorry. If you'd rather find Phichit--”

    “No,” Yuuri said firmly. His forwardness looked like it took both of them aback. “That is, I’d like to eat with you. If you want.”

    Viktor felt like a giddy middle schooler again. “I do want.” So much, apparently, that he’d lost the ability to form complete sentences.

    “There's a park up the street,” Yuuri suggested. “We could go there?”

    “Lead the way.”

    The streets were starting to get busier as noon approached, laughter mixing with the sounds of car horns and drifting through the air. They passed Chris and Phichit heading the opposite direction, the former of which wolf whistled while the latter held up his phone and snapped a picture. Viktor made a note to ask for a copy later.

    A few vendors were set up along the street, mainly selling Christmas cards and scarves but a few had food for sale as well. A nearby table was selling cannoli, and Viktor halted in his tracks. He reached for his wallet, pulling out a five and making a beeline for the food.

    “I’ll have that one please,” he said, pointing to the treat directly in front of him. He handed over the money, pulling the cannoli towards him and taking a sizable bite. “Oh my god,” he moaned around a mouthful. “This is amazing.” He turned, holding it out towards Yuuri. “Do you want to try some?”

    The other boy shook his head, nose wrinkling. “I try not to eat street food. Mari fed me some once and we both got food poisoning afterwards.” He eyed the cannoli suspiciously. “Are you sure you want to eat that? The table looked a little sketchy.”

    Viktor looked longingly at the half eaten cannoli, sighing. Yakov would kill him if he got food poisoning the week before Nationals. He shielded his eyes, gathering his remaining willpower and throwing the dessert in the trash can. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing a hand to his heart. “May you rest in peace until you get eaten by a starving pigeon.”

   Yuuri looked like he was fighting a smile when Viktor turned back around, and he squashed the feeling of triumph that only came from amusing Yuuri. Maybe that was to blame for the next words that left his mouth.

    “Chris’s party Friday. Are you coming?” Yuuri hesitated. “If you can make it, I’d really like to see you before break. I could give you a ride if you want?”

    Yuuri pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. “Okay.”

    Viktor brightened. “Really?”

    “Really. I probably won’t stay the whole time, though,” he warned, but Viktor was far too gone to care. When it came to Yuuri, he was more than happy to take whatever time he could get.


	3. Too Damp For a Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Viktor!” The boy tumbled to the ground and all but launched himself at him, slinging his arms around his neck and looking up with a blinding smile. “I have an idea!”
> 
> Viktor’s heart swelled. He wondered if it was dangerous to feel this much affection for one person. “What?”
> 
> “If I win this dance off, will you go on a date with me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I'm going to England for the next week and a bit. I'll try to write some on the plane, but it might be a little longer before the next chapter's finished :)) (Side note, I can't believe this fic broke 1,000 hits?? Thank you--it means more than Yurio's gold medal xx)

   Yuuri stepped inside Chris’s house, took one look, and then promptly turned around and walked in the other direction. Or he would’ve, anyway, if Viktor hadn’t been blocking the exit.

    Seemingly oblivious to Yuuri’s distress, Viktor was like an overexcited puppy with a new chew toy. “Chris went all out!” he shouted, spinning in place eagerly. “It looks great!”

    Yuuri nodded, stretching his mouth into the shape of a smile and leaning against the wall. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough he could become part of the wallpaper. It was a rather nice shade of blue, and it would save him having to try and socialize.

    The downside of hitching a ride with Viktor meant he couldn't leave when he wanted to (which was now). He supposed he could maybe find Phichit and convince him instead, but that was unlikely given his friend’s incessant urging for Yuuri to get out more. As the music grew in volume from the next room over, he decided he was desperate enough he’d offer to send him the pictures from JJ’s party last year.

    Sara rounded the corner excitedly, raising her hand in greeting. Michele trailed behind her, glaring at Yuuri as if he was going to kidnap Sara from under his nose. Yuuri turned towards Viktor, fully intending to force the other boy to cover for him while he made a timely escape, but he’d disappeared.

   “Yuuri!” Sara squealed, grinning. “You look…”

    He groaned, burying his face in his hands. He knew he listening to Phichit was a bad idea. “I know. Ridiculous.”

    “I was going to say ‘sexy’ actually.” Yuuri imagined he could see the steam rising from Michele’s ears as she leaned closer. “Are you wearing contacts?”

    “No, I don't have any.” He’d planned on wearing the same non-descript t-shirt and jeans he had to school, but Phichit had informed him that wasn’t any way to dress for a first date (“Or second if you count skating!”). Which, while it wasn’t a date Viktor’s expression when he’d arrived to pick him up had been worth every wall he bumped into.

    “You look great,” Sara assured him. “Really, really great.” Michele’s face was growing increasingly red, and she rolled her eyes. “Relax, Mickey. Yuuri and I are just friends.” She aimed a wink in Yuuri’s general direction. “Although I could definitely name more than a few people that would be interested, if you wanted to know?”

     “He's with me.” Viktor had reappeared just as suddenly, slinging an arm over Yuuri’s shoulders. He was smiling, but there was a strange tension to his jaw. Maybe he had a headache?

    Her eyes brightened in interest, flickering between them. “Sorry, I didn't realize you were…”

    “We’re not--” Yuuri began at the same time Viktor said “It’s fine.” He glanced at him in surprise, confusing mounting. As far as he aware, this wasn't a date. Viktor was probably just cracking a joke, to try and make Michele feel less defensive. That’s all it was.

    He resolutely ignored the way the thought made his heart sink.

    “So if you'll excuse us.” Viktor was still speaking, still had his arm around Yuuri as he steered him away from the Crispinos firmly. “I’m sure we’ll see you around! Do you want anything to drink?”

    It took Yuuri a second to realize the question had been directed towards him. His brain was stuck somewhere back on Viktor telling Sara they were dating. Joke or not, Yuuri was starting to wonder if these past two weeks had all been an elaborate dream. “No, but thanks anyway. I don’t drink very often,” he said.

    “I shouldn't, but I do. It drives Yakov crazy,” Viktor said cheerfully. They'd arrived at the kitchen by now and he reached for a beer, taking his arm off Yuuri’s shoulders with a final squeeze. “Between you and me, Mila is the one who can hold her liquor the best. Yura will insist it's him, but I still have videos of the last time they had a drinking contest.”

    “I won't tell anyone,” Yuuri said. He grabbed an empty solo cup, filling it with water from the tap. Hopefully he could pass it off as alcohol if anyone asked.

    “Viktor!” Mila’s head popped around the corner, bright hair instantly recognizable. “We’re playing Never Have I Ever. Come join us?”

    “Sure.” Viktor’s head tipped to glance at Yuuri, bangs falling into his eyes. “That is, if you want to?”

    He shrugged. “Okay.”

    Mila smiled, waving them towards the living room where the rest of the party was clustered in a circle. She made a beeline for Sara, sitting as humanly close as she could without actually being on her lap.

    Yuuri found a seat beside Phichit, back to the wall and window in sight for a quick escape. His friend offered him a cheery smile, quirking an eyebrow suggestively as Viktor sat on his other side. Yuuri mimed shooting himself in the head before turning the gun on Phichit. Judging by the way he stiffened and turned back towards Leo, he assumed his message made it across.

    “Are we going to five or ten?” Emil asked.

    “How about a shot every time you've done something?” Chris suggested lazily, stretching out across Viktor’s legs.

    “Five and then a shot,” Viktor countered. “More than that and we’d both die of alcohol poisoning.”

   “I'll start,” Sara volunteered. Her eyes were surprisingly clear as they scanned the group. “Never have I ever been walked in on.” Both Chris and Viktor’s thumbs dropped, and after a split second hesitation Isabella’s did too. Beside her, JJ’s jaw came unhinged.

    “But we’ve never--”

   “I have had boyfriends before you, Jean-Jacques Leroy,” Isabella chided lightly, kissing him on the cheek. “But none have been as perfect.” JJ’s chest puffed up with pride, and he leaned in for a kiss on the mouth.

    “Do you have to be so disgusting in front of everyone?” Yurio spat. “You can do better than _him_ , hag.”

    Sure, JJ’s brashness could be a little off putting, but Yurio’s hatred seemed like an extreme reaction to some bragging. “Why do you hate him so much?” Yuuri asked.

    “He's rude and a sore loser. And he insulted Beka.”

    “I told you not to worry about that,” Otabek said. “Maybe you could become friends?”

    Yurio snorted. “Not a chance. Besides, who needs affection when I have blind hatred?”

    “Not me,” Otabek agreed, expression the closest to a smile Yuuri had ever seen it.  

    “Never have I ever had sex with someone male,” Mila said, drawing Yuuri’s attention back to the game.

    “But didn’t you and Viktor hook up at the last party?”

    It was asked by someone Yuuri had never met before, but instead of looking at the questioner he turned towards Viktor. The tension was back in his mouth, and though he smiled his eyes did anything but.

    “He wishes,” Mila said, reaching over and giving him a noogie. “In your dreams Nikiforov.”

    He straightened his hair, pouting. “You wound me, Mila.” Maybe a week ago Yuuri would've been fooled into thinking Viktor was fine, but now his smiles were so obviously plastic he wondered how he’d ever believed them. How no one else noticed the guarded look to his eyes.

   “Never have I ever kissed more than three people,” Leo said. Yuuri put down his first finger amidst loud calls.

    “How many Yuuri?” Sara asked.

    He blushed, tugging his sleeves further down over his wrists. “...Twelve.” There were many, many, reasons why he avoided drinking and ‘unleashing his inner Eros and seducing the pants off everyone’ as Phichit put it was one of them.

    Chris let out a low whistle. “Care to make that thirteen?”

    “Or fourteen?” A blue haired girl piped up eagerly.

    “Don't be too hard on him,” Viktor said. His arm found its way around Yuuri’s shoulders again, and Yuuri could hear Phichit’s camera clicking madly away. “It is his first party this year.”

    “Do I even want to know how many _you’ve_ kissed, Viktor?” JJ asked, smirking. “Come on, don't be shy.”

    “Four.”

    JJ was still talking. “It's probably not as many as me, but then again I _am_ a king.”

    “Hey shithead,” Yurio interjected. “He said four.”

    JJ’s sentence came to an abrupt halt. He blinked at Viktor owlishly. “Four?”

   “That's what I said.” Viktor’s voice was friendly enough, but there was an underlying veneer of warning.

    “But--all those people...you said--we thought...I mean-- _who_?”

    “I don't kiss and tell, sorry,” Viktor said, not sounding particularly apologetic. His grip tightened, and Yuuri leaned against his shoulder in an attempt at offering some weak form of comfort.

    “But what about all the people you go home with?” JJ stammered. “And your dates? And the hookups?”

    Viktor shrugged, an uncomfortable jerk of his shoulders. “What’s the saying? You can't trust everything you see on the internet.”

    “But you _always_ go home with at least one half naked person! Always!”

    “Do I? I don't recall.”

    “My first kiss was hanging off the roof of a building,” Yuuri blurted. It worked like a charm; everyone’s eyes left Viktor and fixated on him. He was so relieved it’d worked that he forgot to be nervous. “Yuuko was making a superhero film so she convinced me and Takeshi to help her. The big, dramatic reveal took place on a roof when the love interest fell off and The Ice Princess had to save him. Takeshi didn't want to dangle off a windowsill so I said I'd do it.”

     He winced at the memory. This had been back when he’d had a crush on Yuuko and was determined to do anything he could to impress her. “We waited until everyone was asleep before climbing onto the roof. Takeshi was supposed to pretend to push me off, but he got a little carried away and actually did. I managed to catch myself, and Yuuko kissed me right before I fell. She said it looked ‘really authentic’ but it wasn't worth it.” He'd broken his arm during the fall and been banned from skating until it healed.

     “Was it a good kiss at least?” Guang Hong asked.

     Yuuri smiled. “The whole ‘getting pushed off a roof’ bit kind of ruined it but besides that yeah.”

    Silence, then “Never have I ever had my first kiss dangling off a building,” Phichit said. Yuuri groaned goodnaturedly, putting down a finger as the rest of the group laughed.

     Viktor was staring at him with the same, odd expression from the skating rink. If Yuuri didn't know any better, he'd say it almost looked like a cross between infatuation and wonderment.

     The other boy’s finger found his shirt a few moments later, tracing a string of letters lightly over his back. _Thank you._

* * *

    Viktor had lost track of Yuuri about an hour ago. In his defense, Yuuri had disappeared halfway through Never Have I Ever and Viktor had tried to find him after the game ended, but he could barely make it three feet before bumping into somebody else who wanted to wish him a happy birthday or ask what he was doing for break.

    Annalise was his current conversation partner. She was asking him something about skating--normally a topic he’d happily talk about for hours, but that right now seemed more like a hindrance than anything enjoyable. She was a perfectly nice person too, and Viktor knew he was being unfair. But Yuuri was the only one on his mind right now, and finding him the only thing that mattered.

    A crash cut through the conversation, and Viktor turned to see a flash of dark hair in the middle of a large crowd. Music blared, clapping and shouting fighting to be heard over the laughter. There was no guarantee it was Yuuri, but he needed an out and he was getting desperate.

    “Excuse me for just a moment,” he said, smiling as he inched his way towards the source of the commotion. He stopped in his tracks, shaking his head vigorously. The scene before him remained the same, though, however impossible it might seem.

    Yuuri was break dancing.

    In fact, he wasn't just break dancing, it looked like he was locked in a vicious dance off against Yurio and winning. His shirt had come untucked, riding up to reveal glimpses of pale, gorgeously toned skin.

    “It took sixteen flutes of champagne,” Chris said, approaching him with a wine glass in hand. He offered some to Viktor, but he shook his head. “And then some.”

   “How long have they been dancing?”

    “Yuuri stumbled over and started challenging people to dance offs. We all know Yurio can't resist a challenge. I think they've been dancing for six or seven minutes?”

     The song drew to a close, Yurio collapsing to the ground and panting. In contrast, Yuuri barely looked winded. Viktor’s mind chose that moment to rather unhelpfully supply all the other ways Yuuri’s stamina could be put to use.

    Chris tapped a fork against his wine glass, clearing his throat dramatically. “I believe we have a winner! Yuuri Katsuki is victorious once again!”

    The group went wild, someone picking Yuuri up and carrying him around on their shoulders. Even Yurio looked like he was trying not to smile, though Viktor knew he'd deny it until the day he died. Yuuri’s eyes locked with his over the crowd, and his expression brightened.

    “Viktor!” The boy tumbled to the ground and all but launched himself at him, slinging his arms around his neck and looking up with a blinding smile. “I have an idea!”

     Viktor’s heart swelled. He wondered if it was dangerous to feel this much affection for one person. “What?”

    “If I win this dance off, will you go on a date with me? No money, just you and me.”

    Viktor found himself agreeing before he'd even thought it over. The phrasing threw him a little, but maybe by no money Yuuri meant somewhere free? A museum or something? Not that it mattered, he'd go to hell and back if it meant they could hold hands for a little longer. “It's on,” he said.

     “Good.” Yuuri grabbed his hand, eyes impossibly dark as their foreheads collided. He smirked, deadly suggestive and irresistibly flirtatious. “Don’t ever take your eyes off me,” he said in a low voice, finger tracing down his chest as he pulled away.

    Viktor swallowed. He didn’t think he could if he tried.

    Yuuri danced backwards and spun, leading him in a fast paced tango that left no room for thought or space for breathing. Not that he needed things like breathing when he could watch the glimmer in Yuuri’s eyes and admire the way their fingers fit together perfectly instead. Sometimes it was easy to meet someone and think that they couldn't possibly be as beautiful as you remembered, that time and the frailty of human memory had created an impossible muse.

    Yuuri was not one such person. Every time Viktor saw him he only got more and more beautiful as another facet of his personality was revealed.

    They danced around Yurio, separating only to dodge the coffee table. Viktor whipped off his coat, dangling it beside him like a matador because apparently being around Yuuri brought out his inner five year old. Yuuri laughed, fingers forming horns just below the bangs that were starting to escape. Viktor tossed the jacket aside, back arching as his arms extended.

    Yuuri was a blur beside him, slipping from position to position with such speed and finesse it was all he could do to keep up. Their fingers locked again, Yuuri tugging him closer. One arm looped around his waist, the other extending alongside Viktor’s. Viktor leaned forwards, balancing on one foot and straightening the other behind him with an ease that only came from being a figure skater. He'd never been so grateful for his flexibility.

    In one smooth, entirely unexpected motion, Yuuri dipped him backwards.

    Yuuri was laughing again, the sound completely infectious and Viktor didn't even bother trying to resist its spell.

    “Has anyone ever told you that you're a wonderful dancer?” he asked breathlessly.

    Yuuri’s hands were warm against his cheek and thigh, every point of contact electrifying. It was all he could do to stay upright, one hand pressed to the other boy’s back with a promise to never let go. “You're not so bad yourself. But I win.”

    Viktor smiled. “Fine, I surrender. You win.” He wondered if now would be an inappropriate time to kiss him. Yuuri was close enough that he could smell the mint from his toothpaste, count each eyelash, lean in _just so_ and press his infuriatingly chapped lips against his own. Granted, they were in front of half the school but trivial things like that didn't matter when--

    “Dance off!” Yuuri shouted suddenly. He shoved Viktor away from him, leaping towards Chris and leaving him dazedly in his wake.

     He was vaguely aware of Phichit laughing somewhere off his to side, and then the familiar sound of a camera shutter. None of that mattered though, because he'd made a promise never to take his eyes off Yuuri.

     And that's what he did. He never looked away.

    Not even when Chris magically procured a pole and proceeded to pole dance. Or when Yuuri stepped towards it with a sinful smirk and started to unbutton his shirt. Phichit stopped him with the panicked, frenzied manner of someone who had done this far, far too many times. And when he gently shoved Yuuri out the door, ordering him to drink water and get some fresh air until he’d sobered up, Viktor followed him silently.

    Everything was quieter outside. The streetlights cast a faint glow over the yard, the music still audible from inside. He sat down a few feet away from the door, pulling out his phone and watching Yuuri and Phichit out of the corner of his eye.

    Yuuri stumbled towards the abandoned playground, sitting down heavily on the swings. “Phichit?”

    “Hmm?”

    “What do you think a frog thinks when it gets boiled?”

    “‘Let me out of here’ maybe?”

    Yuuri made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe. I heard it happens so gradually they don't notice until it's too late. Sometimes I feel like the frog. Or I wish I was the frog after it got boiled.” Viktor’s heart broke a little.

     Phichit’s voice was surprisingly calm. “You wish you were dead?”

    “Sort of. Not really. Sometimes it all hurts so much I feel like I'm dying, and then I wish I was dead so it wouldn't hurt anymore.”

    “You wouldn't be able to skate if you were dead. And I would miss you.”

    “No Viktor Nikiforov in the afterlife,” Yuuri agreed, sighing wistfully. Viktor choked.

    “I know I can't always understand what you're feeling, but I want to try,” Phichit said softly. “You have so many people that love you Yuuri, you just have to let us in.”

    Yuuri smiled. “Thanks Phichit. I love you too.”

     Viktor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt a little like he was intruding on something private. He was about to go back inside when Phichit stood, exchanging a few more words with Yuuri before heading towards the house. He caught Viktor’s eye as he opened the door, expression unreadable. He seemed to come to a split-second decision, nodding almost impeccably in Yuuri’s direction with a dark look. The implications were clear--if you screw up you're screwed.

    Viktor offered a slightly terrified smile. Crystal clear.

     Once he was sure the door had closed, he rose and started walking towards the swings. “Hi Yuuri. Do you mind if I sit?”

    “Okay.”

    “How are you feeling?”

    “Drunk.”

    “I’d imagine,” he said. “You did drink over sixteen glasses of champagne.”

    “It's going to be your birthday soon, right?”

    “Right.”

     Yuuri’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh no! I didn't get you anything and you're going back to Russia for Nationals.”

     Viktor smiled. “You don’t have to get me anything. In Russia we don't celebrate before the actual day anyway.” Privately, he thought that this evening had been the best gift of all.

     “Oh.” Yuuri was quiet for a few beats, the chain of the swing squeaking every time he pumped his legs. “Viktor? Can I ask you something?”

     “Sure.”

     “Why are you so sad?”

     Everything stopped. “What do you mean?” he asked, choosing his words carefully.

    Yuuri frowned, brow visibly creasing as he searched for an answer. “You don't always have to be who they want you to be, you know.”

    “That’s easy for you to say.” Viktor cringed. He hadn't meant to sound so short, but thankfully Yuuri didn't look offended.

    “Fine. Then you don’t have to pretend to be anything around me.” Yuuri’s shoes scuffed against the ground as he pushed himself higher, the his profile illuminated in the dim lighting.

     “I have a dog, Makkachin. She's a poodle, but for a long time she was my only friend.” Viktor laughed, the sound coming out bitterer than he’d planned. “She was the only one who never expected anything of me, or wanted me to be anything other than myself.” Later, he will blame the alcohol for making him add “Not that I know who that is anymore.”

    “I know who you are,” Yuuri said confidently. “You're Viktor.” He swung higher and higher, soaring freer than he would with a pair of wings. “You like dogs and the color purple and skating, and you’re a massive dork but you let people think otherwise.” He clamped a hand over his mouth, giggling. “Sorry. That was rude, right?”

    “It was true,” Viktor corrected. He kicked against the ground, launching himself into the air. “I guess I forget sometimes. It's easier to. No one cares about the man behind The Living Legend anyway.”

     “I do.”

     One of these days, Yuuri was definitely going to give him a heart attack. And he was more than okay with that. “Thank you for what you did earlier. During Never Have I Ever with JJ.”

     “You looked uncomfortable. You shouldn't ever be sad.”

     “Neither should you,” Viktor pointed out. “I wish you believed in yourself more. You can do anything you imagine, but you don't seem to think so.”

   “I'm just weak, that's all,” Yuuri mumbled. “Mentally. My brain feels like it's trying to eat itself. I try to make it stop but it’s hard and I'm not strong enough to do anything to stop it.”

    “You're not weak,” Viktor said firmly. He hoped Yuuri could hear the conviction in his voice--hear it and believe it. “No one else thinks that either. You wake up every morning and come to school and go skating, and do everything everyone else does while fighting your brain. That doesn't make you weak, it makes you the strongest person I know.”

     Yuuri’s face lit up “I know! We should both be happy instead. When you forget who you are I'll remind you.”

     Viktor’s throat felt suspiciously tight, in the way it hadn't since he’d gotten Makkachin a few years ago. “Promise?”

     Yuuri reached out with his hand, locking their pinkies. “Pinky promise.”

    “And when you forget how much you matter I'll remind you, too. We can look after each other.”

    “Promise?”

    Viktor linked their fingers again, this time not letting go. It knocked their swings out of alignment, but he hadn't been going very fast anyway. “Pinky promise.”

    Yuuri tipped his head towards the sky, a smile dawning. “Look! It's a shooting star!”

     Viktor was too busy watching him to look away. “Yeah?”

     “Make a wish! But you can't tell me what it is,” Yuuri added seriously. “Otherwise it won't come true.”

     “Okay.” Viktor squeezed his hand tighter, feeling impossibly warm. He would take back every wish he’d ever made on burning candles, falling stars, and broken eyelashes if it meant this one would come true.

     _Stay close to me._


	4. The Sunshine Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Viktor?” 
> 
> “Hmm?”
> 
> Yurio stopped, arms crossing tightly. “What does Agape mean to you? I thought it was Grandpa but it’s still not good enough.”
> 
> He shrugged, flashing him a serene smile. “I told you. It’s a feeling, so I couldn’t possibly describe it.”
> 
> A beat, then “You don’t really know what Agape is, do you?”
> 
> Viktor sighed. “No, I don’t.” Truth be told, he didn’t fully understand his own programs this season either. “I guess that makes two of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mini-hiatus, I've finally returned so updates should be somewhat regular again :)) (side note--I went to a dodie concert which was one of The Coolest Things ever) I've been making some minor edits as I go (nothing super noticeable or that changes anything) so if you see something that looks a little different that's why. The dubious consent tag applies for this chapter. It's implied/non graphic, is in reference to a past relationship, and is stated in passing, but it's in the second to last section so if you want to skip that paragraph it shouldn't matter /too/ much.  
> (Also I think it was just last chapter that this fic hit 1k reads but somehow it's already broken 2k?? That's crazy, thank you all so much <33)  
> ~  
> Viktor's SP: Romance in F Major, Op. 11 - Dvorak  
> Viktor's FS: Aria (Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare) - Yuri!!! On Ice
> 
> Yurio's SP: In Regards To Love - Agape - Yuri!!! On Ice  
> Yurio's Exhibition: Welcome to the Madness - Yuri!!! On Ice
> 
> Yuuri's SP: In Regards To Love - Eros - Yuri!!! On Ice

    Detroit was strange without Viktor.

    Not that Yuuri would've contacted him anyway, much less ask to hang out, but if they just _happened_ to be at the same place at the same time that wouldn't be so strange, right?

    On second thought, maybe it was better he was on the opposite side of the world.

    Phichit had returned to Thailand with his family for break, Leo was off at a music camp, and Guang Hong’s mother had dragged him on some week long retreat. Yuuko and Takeshi were home from college so it wasn't like he was completely alone, but they'd started dating a few months ago and there was only so much third wheeling he could take before it got too awkward.

    The two had been his only friends in middle school, and when they’d decided to go to the same college Yuuri had been concerned they’d meet better people and forget all about him. As usual, he shouldn’t have worried.

    Yuuko greeted him with a breath crushing hug, hair up in its familiar do. “Yuuri! It’s good to see you again!”

    He returned the hug just as tightly. “You too.” His eyes met Takeshi over Yuuko’s shoulder, and he offered a smile. “Hi Takeshi.”

    The man clapped him warmly on the back as Yuuko released him. “How’s high school treating you?”

    Yuuko rolled her eyes, bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly. “Forget school--how’s _Viktor Nikiforov_? Do you have his number? Have you seen him skate? Is he single?”

    Yuuri laughed, knocked back a little at her enthusiasm. It was Yuuko who had first introduced him to Viktor all those years ago, and along with Minako-sensei had pushed him to keep skating ever since. “Fine, no, yes, and kind of?”

    “Kind of?”

  
    “Your boyfriend’s standing right there.”

    “I’m not the one with Viktor’s face plastered all over my wall.” Yuuri raised an eyebrow. Yuuko flushed. “Not anymore,” she amended.

    “Anymore?”

    “Let’s go to Ice Castle,” she suggested brightly, brushing aside Takeshi’s question with practiced nonchalance. “I want to see your programs! It’s the least you can do, considering you dropped out of Nationals.”

    “Why did you withdraw?” Takeshi asked. He propped open the door, following Yuuko and Yuuri outside. Ice Castle was a short walk away from Takeshi’s house and owned by his family. While it wasn’t his home rink nowadays, it was where Yuuri had grown up skating. He still had the key the Nishigori’s had given him for his twelfth birthday, and whenever he needed somewhere to clear his head it was one of his havens.

    Yuuri sighed, pulling his scarf further up his face. “I’m taking some time off skating.”

    “Is that Yuuri-speak for you’re retiring?”

     Yuuko stopped in her tracks, hands resting on her hips indignantly. “You can’t retire now! You’re the closest you’ve ever been to skating on the same ice as Viktor.”

     “I’m not retiring,” he assured her somewhat truthfully. “I just need some time to clear my head.” Yuuko still looked skeptical, so he braced himself and continued. “Besides, Viktor offered to choreograph my short program for next season.”

    Takeshi’s jaw dropped open. “ _The_ Viktor Nikiforov?” he asked a few stunned breaths later. “Yuuri...that’s--it’s like a dream come true.”

    Yuuri nodded, fighting his rising smile. “I know.” Yuuko was still frozen beside him, and Takeshi waved a hand in front of her face.

    She turned towards him, eyes wide and ecstatic. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about this weeks ago! You have to show us right now!”

    “He hasn’t shown me anything yet,” Yuuri said. “I’m not even sure if it’s finished.”

    “But it will be soon! This is crazy Yuuri. I can’t wait to see it.”

    “What if I can’t do it justice?” he asked, finally allowing himself to voice the concern that had been picking away at his brain since Viktor had first offered. “I’m sure everyone will say that they’d rather see Viktor skate it.”

    “Probably,” Takeshi agreed. Yuuko elbowed him in the ribs. The man usually meant well, but like Viktor he could be a little blunt sometimes. “But I’ve heard people say the same about Yuri Plisetsky’s [_Agape_ program](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JY0JI2NIr5o) so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

    “Have you met me?” Yuuri asked dryly. “The needless worry is included with the anxiety.”

    “We know you can do it,” Yuuko said confidently. “And so does Viktor. He wouldn't have offered you the program if he didn't think you could.”

    He made a face, starting to walk again. “Viktor loves to surprise people; that’s all it is. What better way than taking a loser and trying to turn him into a winner?” Yuuko’s expression was a little too understanding for his liking. “We haven’t even really talked or anything,” he said as carelessly as he could. “Really. It doesn’t bother me.”

    To his surprise, it was Takeshi that spoke up first. “Well, you can come here to practice anytime. We’ve always got your back,” he said, uncharacteristically solemn.

     “Thank you,” Yuuri said, something warm filling the cracks of his smile.

    For the last few years he’d been using skating as a distraction. When he was skating he didn’t have time to worry about his inadequacies and how all he ever did was fuck things up.

    Once everyone close to him realized what a mess he really was and had had time to see the possibilities of other people and places, he hadn’t thought anyone would care what happened to him one way or another. But he was starting to wonder if maybe he was wrong.

* * *

     Yuuri Katsuki was everywhere.

    In brown eyes that were never quite bright enough, and laughter that fell just short of a full symphony. In the snide comments from Yurio and the questions from Chris, in the photo of him and Yuuri Viktor had made his lock screen, and most of all inside his mind.

    There was no escape.

    He loved it as much as he hated it, never wanted to see Yuuri again as much as he needed it like breathing.

    The only good thing about his ‘insufferable moping’ as Yurio put it was that he was really nailing the longing factor of his [free skate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FE8W3maJUs). The worst was that when he wasn't finishing preparations for Nationals he was stuck scrolling obsessively through the photos from the party. He couldn't help but compare his smile from press photographs and interviews to the ones directed towards Yuuri. Chris was right--he really did look happier.

    “Vitya!” Yakov shouted. Viktor thought he could see another hair fall out. “Get off your damn phone. Despite what you seem to think, your quad loop isn't going to perfect itself.”

     He sighed, casting a final glance at his phone before setting it on the railing. Why would he bother with things like quad loops when he could stare at Yuuri’s picture for a moment longer?

     Yurio skidded to a halt beside him, nose wrinkled. “Are you seriously still mooning over Katsudon?”

     Viktor thumped his head against the wall, groaning. “I don't know when I'll see him again, much less talk to him. It could be weeks.”

    “Are you--you have his _number_. Call him you moron.”

    “Oh, right!”

     Yurio knocked his hand away. “Not _now._ ”

    “So cruel, Yura. How could you treat a broken heart this way?”

    “Yeah, well your heart won't be the only thing that's broken if you don't start practicing. Besides, I'm sure he'll be watching. Don't you want to show off?”

    Viktor pouted. Yurio did have a point; Yuuri was both a competitor and his classmate, so it’d only make sense for him to watch, and he didn't want to present anything but his very best. “Fine. I’ll text him after the short program,” he said grudgingly. “Happy?”

    Yurio skated away in response, [Welcome to the Madness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=im3X2x903g4&t=60s) blaring from his headphones. Lilia would probably be on him in a few minutes, informing him that ‘such songs were not fitting for a prima ballerina’ and that he’d be better suited choosing a different exhibition (and costume). Viktor wondered if she’d ever accept that it was a lost cause.

    He ran through his step sequences and a few jumps while Yakov was looking, but as soon as his attention drifted he resumed his newest project--revising the choreography for [In Regards To Love - Eros](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWV-jkKrCbM). There was something missing, and though having Yuuri skate it solved some of the problem there still wasn’t the _depth_ of emotion that was needed.

    To be perfectly honest, his dance with Yuuri had been filled with more eros and inspiration than anything he was producing right now. He frowned, pushing away from the edge of the rink and launching into the opening sequence.

    Hands fluid, accentuating every curve, wrapping around his body to snap at his sides. A smirk, and then an alluring, beckoning call as he danced across the ice. Or that's what it would be when Yuuri skated it, anyway. Viktor had known _Eros_ was meant to be Yuuri’s from the moment he’d stepped onto the ice, and the party had only confirmed it further.

    On impulse, he imitated a few of the moves from their dance, some vaguely flamenco elements starting to take form. It didn’t have the same life Yuuri had breathed into, but that was something he was sure would be remedied once the other boy took it over. If there was one area Yuuri definitely didn’t need any work on, it was his ridiculously high PCS. That was one of the things he admired the most about him. Viktor’s PCS was never bad, certainly, but he’d always had trouble with his emotions both on and off the ice.

    He slowed, spinning in place thoughtfully. Next maybe the outside spread eagle into a triple axel? Yuuri’s strongest jump was the axel and he had nearly inhuman stamina, so should he place all the jumps in the second half for more points?

    “Vitya!” Yakov roared, voice echoing around the rink. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

    Viktor skidded to a stop, grinning in his coach’s direction and raising his hand in a cheery wave. “What do you think? It’s Yuuri Katsuki’s short program for next season.”

     Yakov’s face turned an impressive shade of purple. “So aside from directly disobeying my instructions, you’re telling me you’re composing a program for one of your rivals?”

    “I choreographed _Agape_ last year while also finishing my own programs _,_ ” Viktor said, crossing his arms. “I can do it.”

    “You’ve already told Yuri you’d choreograph his short program. With Katsuki that’s four programs. Five, counting your exhibition, and they all have to be at a competitive level. Apparently I need to tell you how stupid this is. It’d be hard enough during a normal season, but this will be the Olympics. You might be the top of the figure skating world, but not even you can pull all of that off.”

    Viktor smirked, the same expression that had earned him the labels of cocky and self absorbed. “It would surprise you, though. If I did manage to pull it off.”

     “That’s not the point,” Yakov growled. “Between this and your quad flip--and don’t think I don’t know you’ve been practicing behind my back--one would think you have a deathwish.”

     Viktor shrugged. “I’m a figure skater,” he said flatly. “We all have a deathwish.”

    “Don’t start this Viktor. Not now.”

    “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

    Yakov’s eyes narrowed before he sighed, shaking his head. “You’re as selfish as always.”

    Viktor smiled, tight lipped and narrow. “At least some things never change.”

* * *

     Yu-topia always experienced a boom in business around the holidays. Yuuri wasn’t sure why anyone would choose to come to Detroit of all places, but at least it left him with plenty to keep busy with over break. His parents had started the inn after moving to America, and Mari had already expressed an interest in taking over after they retired. That was more than fine by Yuuri; while he would always think of the inn as home his real passion had always been skating. He still enjoyed helping out, though, which was how he found himself in the kitchens fixing katsudon.

    “Is Phichit enjoying Thailand?” his mother asked, spoon a blur as she stirred the rice. While they did have other staff to prepare the food, his mom had always liked to do as much of the cooking as she could herself. And it was a widely acknowledged fact that no one could beat Hiroko Katsuki’s katsudon.

   “I think so. Apparently he managed to convince his parents to switch to an international phone plan as an early Christmas present.”

   “Tell him he's welcome to come over once he gets back. The same goes for any of your other friends.” She smiled, cheeks dimpling. “We don't have a shortage of room.”

    “I'll let him know.”

    “How’s Celestino?” Now that he was older, his parents rarely had contact with his coach outside of paying the fees, though it’d always seemed like they’d gotten along.

    “Fine I think,” Yuuri said, shrugging. “We haven’t talked in awhile.”

    “Have you thought anymore about next season?” There wasn’t any judgement in his mother’s voice, just a simple curiosity that was almost harder to deal with.

    He shifted uncomfortably, burying himself in checking the peas. Still a little undercooked. “I don’t know. I had been considering retiring.”

    She raised an eyebrow. “But?”

    “But Viktor offered to choreograph my short program.” He sighed, pushing his glasses up. “I know it’s stupid. Skating’s expensive and you and Dad have already paid for everything and I’m not good enough and--”

    “Viktor?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. She took the fork from Yuuri, sampling the onions. “Isn’t he that skater you have all those the posters of?”

    He flushed. “Yes.”

    “I’m proud of you,” she said unexpectedly. “We all are, and that’s never going to change. Is quitting going to make you happiest?”

    “Yes.” He hesitated. “No. I don’t know.”

    “You don't have to make a final decision right now, right?” He nodded. “I know your father and I probably aren’t as educated as we should be when it comes to your skating, but whatever choice you make we’ll support you. I don’t want you to worry about the cost.”

     Yuuri swallowed. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

    “And I don’t want to hear anymore of this talk about not being good enough,” she added, turning off the burner and pulling the pot closer. “I won’t listen to you talk about my son that way.” Yuuri could only manage a smile in response, but from the way his mother returned it he knew the sentiment had come across loud and clear.

    His family didn't understand figure skating very well, even after all these years, but they always tried and that was more than he could ask for.

* * *

     Makkachin pulled on the leash, barking excitedly. It was with a twinge of guilt that Viktor tugged her back. Normally he liked to leave her leashless as much as possible, but after a near miss with a car last year he was more leery when they were on main roads.

    “Sorry girl,” he muttered, wrapping the leash tighter around his wrist. “We’re almost there.”

     Despite the mixed feelings he had surrounding Russia, he couldn’t deny that the country looked beautiful during the winter. He’d only been to Chelyabinsk a few times, but the falling snow looked rather picturesque against the barren trees. It was all lovely, but he’d always thought it would be more enjoyable if he had someone alongside him.

    As he neared the park, he reached down and unclipped Makkachin’s leash. She darted into the nearest cluster of snow, tail wagging happily. It was impossible not to watch her without smiling, but he couldn’t help but feel a little regretful. With the combination of training, competing, and school, it seemed like he rarely had time to spend with Makkachin anymore. And though she was still relatively young, he was sure it would only get worse as he got older.

     Maybe it was better he was alone. Considering he could barely make time for his dog another human would probably make him combust.

    He sat on one of the nearby benches, rubbing his hands together. Makkachin bounded back towards him, panting contentedly as he reached out and scratched her back. “I’m sorry for leaving you behind so much lately,” he told her. “You probably wouldn’t enjoy it, anyway. Lots of conferences and sponsorships.” Her tail thumped against the ground, sending up a gentle powder of snow.

     Viktor tipped his head towards the sky, movements stilling. A mass of gray clouds stretched further than his eyes could see, and he decided that if oblivion had a color this must be it. Makkachin whined, her head reaching towards his hand and searching for touch. He smiled slightly, resuming his petting  “At least we have each other, right? You and me against the world.”

* * *

     “Viktor’s starting!” Yuuko squealed. Takeshi rolled his eyes good naturedly, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Yuuri slid into the seat beside Minako-sensei, turning towards the laptop excitedly. Their viewing parties had been a tradition for as long as he could remember, although the year they’d gotten tickets and flown to the venue was still his favorite.

    “Last on the ice is the reigning National champion--Viktor Nikiforov! He will be skating to _Romance in F Major, Opus 11_ by Antonin Dvorak.”  

    Viktor looked...different.

    Yuuri wasn't sure what he was expecting--he was at a skating event and every skater had a certain air of confidence they liked to project, but it was so different from the beaming smiles and uncontrolled laughter he was used to. Yuuko, Takeshi, and Minako-sensei didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary--the former and the latter busy gushing over Viktor’s costume while Takeshi agreed grudgingly.

    Then Viktor started [skating](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZTeavJ9frA), and everything else faded into obscurity.

    Regardless of how many times he saw him skate, Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever get tired of watching. How could he when Viktor was an unending chain of surprises? Whereas his free skate costume looked like something out of a fairytale, for his short program he was dressed completely in black--save for the sparkling jewels lining the collar and crossing over his chest.

     “Do you think he’ll win again?” Takeshi asked. Yuuko gasped, looking at him as if even the notion of Viktor losing was absurd. And really, it was.

    Viktor took off into a perfect triple axel, flowing into the next element. His mouth was curved into a smile as a hand fluttered over his heart, gaze softer than Yuuri ever remembered seeing it. It looked as if he were far, far away in some distant memory.

    “I wonder what’s different,” Minako-sensei said, voicing his thoughts. “Not that his skating is ever bad, but his PCS has been lower than usual this season. This is the first time it looks like it might be higher again.”

    “Maybe he fell in love?” Yuuko suggested. “His theme _is_ passion.”

     Yuuri ignored the way his stomach sank at that, focusing instead on the gleam of Viktor’s hair as he spun. The light in rinks was artificial and offensively bright, and today it gave Viktor an almost alien like appearance. With his fair hair, paler skin, and blue eyes he looked as if he were cut from the ice he worshipped and he moved as if he must be.

    He finished his program with a flourish, one arm dangling by his side and the other raised over his head. The laptop speakers exploded with applause, and the group clapped along enthusiastically.

    There was a curious lump in Yuuri’s throat, and he forced it back down. He watched as Viktor gave a polite bow, collecting a bouquet of blue roses and a poodle plushie that had been thrown on the ice before skating towards the kiss and cry. The smile from his skating, while small, had seemed genuine, but there was no trace of it as he greeted Coach Feltsman and slipped on his skate guards.

     “Do you think he’ll break the world record?” Takeshi asked. “I know it wouldn’t count, but it could be a personal best.”

    “I don’t think so,” Yuuri said. He cleared his throat, tucking his knees to his chest. Onscreen, Viktor was clutching the flowers and plushie tightly as he smiled broadly for the cameras. “He did a good job, but I think his performance was better at the Grand Prix Final.”

    Minako-sensei was watching him carefully. “Do you wish you were competing?”

     “No,” Yuuri said only half-truthfully. They had still never talked about his decision to withdraw, but he had a feeling he couldn’t put it off for much longer. “Even if I had made it to Worlds, I wouldn’t have stood a chance of medaling.” Yuuko looked as if she were going to protest, but the announcers fell silent and all eyes flew to the screen.

    “The score for Viktor Nikiforov is 114.97! He’s currently in first place.”

     Viktor’s smile widened, and he blew a kiss towards the camera with a wink. Yakov grumbled something beside him, but Yuuri thought he could detect a hint of pride in the man’s expression. The camera cut back to a replay of one of Viktor’s jumps, one of the announcers commenting on his form. Yuuko, Takeshi, and Minako-sensei dissolved into an analysis of the short program and whether they thought Yurio would be able to catch up, but Yuuri couldn't look away from the screen.

     The longer they replayed Viktor’s skating, the more he could see the differences in this performance compared to his previous ones. He watched until his eyes burned and the stream cut off, but he still couldn’t figure out what the catalyst had been for such a change.

* * *

     The short program had gone surprisingly well.

     Viktor had fully been expecting a lecture from Yakov at the kiss and cry, but to his surprise all he’d received was an approving nod. His short program was intended to convey the happier bliss of being in love and rekindled passion, something that Viktor had struggled with so far, but recalling the feelings from the party and the warmth Yuuri always gave him had been a strangely effective solution. While it was still a few points off from his personal best, it had been his highest score all season.

    Yurio had scored a perfectly respectable 98.09, placing him just underneath Georgi. Viktor had been worried it would discourage him, but on the contrary he seemed even more driven than normal. Viktor remained in first by a fairly wide margin, and he was confident with his free skate.

    “You coming?” Yurio asked.

    Viktor blinked, letting the question ground him. “Coming where?”

    “Mila and Evgenia are dragging me out to eat and if I’m suffering so are you. I think Georgi’s coming too so you know what that means.”

     He winced. Georgi’s girlfriend of three years, Anya, had dumped him a few weeks ago and the skater was nowhere near over it. Truth be told, he didn’t really want to do much of anything except retreat to his room and maybe cuddle with Makakchin, but Yakov had informed him he needed to work on ‘approachability.’ “I’ll come.”

     “It wasn’t a question anyway.” If there was a flicker of relief in Yurio’s expression neither of them commented on it. He shoved open the door, hands sliding into his pockets as he marched through. “Try and keep up, will you?”

    The building had cleared out for the most part and they made it out uninterrupted, Viktor pulling his scarf tighter. He’d been spoiled in Detroit with the milder winters--at least compared to here.

    “Do you miss Russia?” Yurio asked suddenly.

    “Not really, no,” he admitted. “Do you?”

    “I miss piroshki. And Grandpa.” The younger skater scuffed the ground with his shoe, head tilted downwards in thought. “But Detroit has Otabek.”

    “And Yuuri.”

    Yurio’s lips twitched. “And Katsudon.”

    “I miss hearing the seagulls sometimes. I never thought I would leave that place.”

    “Your skating was different today.” Yurio’s forehead was scrunched up in thought, eyes sharp. “Less shit than usual.”

    Somehow, that startled a laugh out of Viktor. “Thanks Yuri.”

    “You didn’t call me Yurio.”

    He paused. “I didn’t, did I? Do you not want me too?” He’d started calling Yuri Yurio while they were joking about nicknames a few months ago, and after Mila had heard the name had stuck. It had never occurred to him that maybe Yuri didn’t like being referred to as such.

    Yuri shrugged, neck flushing scarlet. “I guess I don’t really mind,” he mumbled. “And it makes it less weird when you’re being disgusting about the other Yuuri.”

    Viktor grinned, reaching over and ruffling his hair. “If you’re sure, _Yurio._ ”

   “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t let it go to your head. If it gets any bigger you won’t be able to get off the ground.”

   “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

   “Viktor?”

   “Hmm?”

   Yurio stopped, arms crossing tightly. “What does Agape mean to you? I thought it was Grandpa but it’s still not good enough.”

    He shrugged, flashing him a serene smile. “I told you. It’s a feeling, so I couldn’t possibly describe it.”

    A beat, then “You don’t really know what Agape is, do you?”

    Viktor sighed. “No, I don’t.” Truth be told, he didn’t fully understand his own programs this season either. “I guess that makes two of us.”

    “Why did you give it to me then?”

    “You wanted a senior debut that would help you win. If you can find your Agape you’ll surpass me easily.”

    “Why did you make your theme Passion?”

    Normally he would’ve ended the conversation here, but this was the first time he’d seen Yurio this vulnerable in years. “I thought if I spent the season trying to understand life and love maybe I’d find them again.”

    “Have you?”

    Viktor smiled, bangs falling in his eyes as he glanced away. “Have you found your Agape yet?”

    “Please. I don’t know why I bothered asking.” Yurio rolled his eyes, jerking his chin towards the street. “Come on, Mila’s waiting.”

    “Lead the way.” The air was was getting colder, his breath disappearing as quickly as it formed. Cars rushed down the street, leaving trails of exhaust and staining the air long after they disappeared. Viktor pulled his coat further around his neck, Yurio’s shoes scuffing the ground beside him.

    Everything was quiet.

* * *

     Yuuri’s phone went off after dinner. The only person who ever texted him past eight was Phichit, although they’d already Skyped a few hours before. An unknown number flashed across the screen, foreign area code and definitely not Phichit.

     _Did you watch the short program?_

He frowned, typing a response with a fair amount of trepidation. **_sorry who is this?_ **

_Viktor!_

     **_how did you get my number?_ **

    _You gave_ _it to me at JJ’s party last week_

Yuuri was pretty sure that giving Viktor his number wouldn’t be something that would slip his memory, but then again he didn't remember much of anything from the party. After running into Yurio and receiving another one hundred dollars, he’d proceeded to get blackout drunk to avoid thinking about the implications of the money and what exactly the hell he thought he was doing. Probably not his smartest decision, but Phichit assured him nothing too incriminating happened.

     Although he’d given someone a lap dance the last time he got drunk so ‘incriminating’ was a relative term.

**_i did watch the short program. you were amazing as always_ **

**** _Thank you )) Any advice?_

**_are you sure you want to ask me?_ **

**** _Why wouldn’t I?_

That Viktor even had to ask was laughable. **_anything I could offer you already know_ **

**** “Who are you texting?” Mari asked, unlit cigarette dangling from her fingers.

    “Viktor,” Yuuri answered distractedly.

    “Since when have you had Viktor’s number?”

     “I didn’t. He had mine.” His phone vibrated again, and he glanced down with a blush.

     _That's not true. Your step sequences and spins are much better than mine. Yurio’s always waving one of your programs in my face and telling how how yours was better_

**_thank you_ ** _^_^_

“How did he get your number?”

    “He says I gave it to him at the party last week? I don’t really remember, though.”

    “You were pretty out of it when Phichit dropped you off,” Mari said. “You could always text him and ask.”

     “I don't know if I want to know.” Yuuri had an involuntary flashback to the lap dance and shuddered. Yep, he was definitely fine with not knowing. “He said I didn't do anything illegal.”

      “That's a high bar,” his sister said dryly. She mussed his hair, heading towards the door. “Try not to get arrested while I'm gone. Wait until after Christmas at least.”

      “Very funny Mari.” His phone buzzed again, Yuuri almost flipping it off his lap in his haste to check.

       _So was that a no to the feedback? It’s awfully rude of you to leave your coach hanging like this, but you could maybe make it up to me with coffee_

      **_you’re in russia_ **

**** _After break. My treat._

**_i’ll have to check my schedule but i think i can make time_ ** **(◕‿-)**

_It's a date ❤️_

Yuuri's phone bounced against the carpet. Surely Viktor was just joking. And the heart was probably a friendly gesture. Phichit sent him strings of emojis at every opportunity so it wasn’t like it was _that_ out of the ordinary. Definitely not anything he should be reading into too far.

    Regardless, date or not, that didn't change the fact that Viktor had asked him to coffee. Him. Yuuri Katsuki. This was the stuff of thirteen year old Yuuri’s self-insert fanfiction.

    He grinned, heart pounding fast enough to shatter his chest. For once it was anything but a bad feeling.

* * *

     The medal was heavy around his neck, another shackle dragging him down. Viktor knew he should be happy; his was a position any skater would kill to be in but it still felt empty. True, his technical score had been flawless and his PCS had been higher than usual, but there was no feeling of hard earned satisfaction.

    He kissed the medal, dangling it by his cheek with a grin. The crowd roared their approval, camera flashes the lightning to the thunder of their applause. Yurio was smiling beside him, spine too stiff to be genuine in his joy. His free skate had easily knocked Georgi from second, but he was still a long way from catching Viktor.

    Viktor still stood by what he'd told Yurio--given a little more experience the younger skater could become a real challenger. He had both the talent and motivation it took to win without the stagnancy.

    His gaze drifted past the reporters and towards the crowd, finding his rink mates easily. Lilia looked as impassive as ever, Mila flashing him a thumbs up from the stands. There had been claims that Yakov moving his rink to America would be detrimental, but given the top three finishers had all been under his coaching that was proof enough of the contrary.

    He glanced up, gaze roaming left, and his heart stopped. Green eyes blinked down at him, delicate hand raised in a mocking salute.

    His medal hit the ground with a thud.

 

    Five thousand three hundred and eighty two miles away, Yuuko turned to Yuuri with a frown. “Is Viktor crying?”

* * *

     The aftermath was rather anticlimactic.

    Everyone had wanted to know what had happened to make him look so stricken and why he'd dropped his medal, to which Viktor replied that it was simply happiness at winning and feeling overwhelmed at how supportive his fans were.

     Eli didn't approach him once.

     As soon as they reached the safety of the hotel, Yurio yanked on his sleeve with white knuckles. His expression was furious as he searched Viktor’s face. “What did he say to you?”

   He briefly contemplated feigning ignorance, but based on the way Yurio had him in a death grip that probably wasn’t the smartest choice. “Nothing.” The boy’s eyes narrowed. “I swear. I don’t even know if it was him.”

    “I saw him too,” Yurio confirmed. “You don’t need to lie.”

    “He hasn't tried to talk to me.” Part of Viktor hoped he never would, but if he was being honest there was a larger part that did. He had no idea why; it was better for both of them if they didn't speak but it felt wrong to be so close and not say anything.

    “But you'll tell me if he does, right?” Yurio asked. “Or if he tries anything?” It was a testament to how serious he was that he didn't bother disguising his intentions with sarcasm or barbs.

     “Of course,” Viktor said mostly untruthfully. His phone chimed in his hand, and looked down to see a text from Yuuri.

**_congratulations!_ **

_Thank you!_

    “Is it Katsudon?” Yurio asked.

    Viktor nodded. “How did you know?”

    “That stupid smile on your face. Tell him that just because it’s break doesn’t mean he can slack off. I want him at his best for Worlds.”

    Viktor shot him a puzzled glance. “He’s not competing at Worlds.” Yurio froze. “I thought you knew.”

    “Does that mean the pig’s retiring?” he asked, words rushed and strangely frantic. Viktor never would’ve guessed Yuuri’s possible retirement would affect him this way.

    “No. I don’t think so anyway. He agreed to let me choreograph his short program next season, so.”

    Yurio gave him a distinctly unimpressed look. “You didn’t forget your promise again, did you?”

    “Of course not. I’m choreographing both.”

    The boy did a double take. “What--mine, yours, _and_ Katsudon’s? Are you crazy?”

    “Yakov said the same thing.”

     Yurio’s face was unreadable. For a moment, it looked as though he were about to start yelling, but at the last moment his mouth relaxed. “As long as he doesn’t retire,” he warned, and it took Viktor a second to realize they were back to Yuuri. “He _can’t_ retire.”

    “I didn’t know you admired him that much.”

    “I’m not an idiot,” he said brusquely. “I know good skating when I see it.”

    Viktor smiled. “We’ll have to do our best to make sure he knows that,” he said. Yurio grunted, burying his nose back in his phone and walking away. A smile flickered across his face, just long enough for Viktor to see.

* * *

    Despite the fact that he and Mari were in high school and an adult respectively, every Christmas morning they were outside their parents’ room at eight ‘o’clock sharp. Aside from being older, not much had changed in the past ten years. Yuuri even still had a pair of poodle pajamas.

    “Ready?’ Mari whispered. He nodded, and with a whoop she pushed the door open and they tumbled through.

    “Merry Christmas!” he shouted. Mari rolled onto the bed, bouncing up and down excitedly. Christmas was one of the only times they still acted like children, and the only time their parents ever woke up past seven.

     His dad laughed. “Did you bring coffee? That’s the deal.”

     Mari nodded, looking smug. “But it’s in the kitchen so you have to get up first.”

    “I don’t remember that being in the contract.”

    “We’re revising the terms,” Yuuri informed him, sliding off the bed.

    After some more poking and prodding their parents joined them in the kitchen for the customary coffee and stoking unwrapping. The presents were saved for after breakfast, and remained stashed under the tree in the living room until then. The inn was usually decorated for the holidays anyway, but Yuuri and Mari had hung their own snowflakes around the rooms their family used.

    Some broken dishes, questionable renditions of Christmas carols, and many cups of coffee later, the Katsuki’s were lounging around the fire in a sea of wrapping paper. Mari had received a checkers set from their grandparents and promptly called Yuuri to battle.

    There were very few things Yuuri was good at, but he could say with a fair degree of confidence that checkers was one.

    “King me,” Mari said, rocking back on her knees with a victorious smile as Yuuri dutifully stacked the pieces. He’d been quietly setting up a quadruple jump in the other corner of the board, and to his relief she hadn’t noticed yet. Unsuccessfully trying to hide his smile, he picked up his piece and moved to the opposite side.

    “King me,” he said, blinking innocently at Mari’s outraged expression. When properly challenged, he actually hated losing which was part of what made checkers fun and skating stressful. She grumbled something under her breath, kinging him and moving her own piece forwards with a sharp jab.

    The television was on low in the background, _What a Wonderful Life_ playing for the fourth time this week. His parents were talking in quiet tones, his mom chuckling at some joke his dad had just made. Christmas wasn’t the huge event for his family that it was for most of the country. Aside from their wake up and gift giving routine, they didn’t throw any huge parties or do anything fancy. Yuuri wouldn’t have it any other way, though.

    He jumped Mari’s last piece, reigning victorious once again.

    “Someday I’m going to beat you,” she threatened, sliding the board and pieces back into their case. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

    Yuuri smirked. “I look forward to it,” he said. Something buzzed against his leg, and rather unsurprisingly it was another text from Viktor. Since their first communication a few days ago, he had grown accustomed to random texts and emojis whenever Viktor had a free moment. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it at least a little.

     _Merry Christmas!_

**_you too and happy birthday! did you do anything special?_ **

_I didn't. I don't usually celebrate because it's during Nationals haha._

Yuuri frowned. His family always celebrated his birthday. Every year they let him pick his birthday dinner (though it was usually katsudon) and cake, and he’d invite Phichit and a few others over to spend the night. They did the same for Mari, and even if their parties were never anything elaborate they were still something of a holiday.

**_what’s your favorite kind of cake?_ **

_Chocolate!_

**_when you get back i’ll make you a chocolate cake and we’ll celebrate._ ** He omitted the fact that he didn’t know how to make a chocolate cake, exactly, but he figured it couldn’t be too hard, right?

      _Deal ❤️_

    “Mom?” Yuuri asked, setting his phone down and pushing up his glasses.

    “Yes?”

    “Will you teach me how to bake?

* * *

     The first time Viktor fell in love he was fifteen.

     Eli had been a fellow skater training at the rink in Saint Petersburg, and he’d had fallen hard for green eyes and a warm smile. Eli had been every handsome, mysterious man Viktor had ever found in stories, and like a tragedy his love had followed.

    Their first kiss had been in the dead of night and just as silent, a stolen moment in the locker room. Viktor dedicated his programs to the feeling of euphoria and infiniteness it gave him.

    Their first time had been similarly held, except there were no programs composed this time.

    Viktor hadn't  _really_ been ready, but Eli had kept pushing and everyone else was doing it. How could he hope to surprise people if he couldn’t even do this? By the time he started to think maybe this wasn’t really what he wanted it was too late. And he hadn’t said no, but Eli hadn’t asked either so he wasn’t sure whose fault it was in the end.

    Not that it really mattered because Eli dumped him the following week over text. Three days before Worlds.

     Viktor wasn't sure how he'd managed to medal, let alone get gold, but it wouldn't be the last time he thought someone else deserved it instead.

    After the disaster that had been the press conference, he’d hidden in the bathroom and cried. Heartbreak was bad enough on its own, but to then deal with a constant barrage of prying questions and accusations was more than he could deal with.

    He squeezed his eyes shut, a sob escaping despite his best efforts to keep quiet. He'd give anything to be back home with Makkachin and to never have met Eli in the first place.

    Footsteps stopped outside the stall and he froze. “Hello?” The voice was timid, shy in its hesitation but oddly forceful. It sounded American, maybe from the north? “Are you okay?”

    The door rattled, and Viktor bolted to his feet. “Don't open it!”

     “Sorry. It's just...I thought I heard someone crying and I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

     Even though no one could see him, Viktor forced a smile. At this point it was second nature. “I’m fine.” He fell silent, leaning against the door. A pair of black sneakers peeked underneath, and if he squinted he could see glimpses of what looked like black hair and a blue jacket. Curiosity getting the better of him, he couldn't help but ask “Competitor or spectator?”

     “Spectator today but I do skate. You?”

     For once, Viktor thanked his tears for making him so congested his voice was unrecognizable. “Both.”

    “Are you sure you're okay?”

    His hair dangled past his fingertips, starting to come out of its do. Normally he liked the length, but right now all it reminded him of was Eli and how tangled it always was after they had sex.

    Yakov and Lilia would probably want him to leave it long, but nausea curled in his stomach at the thought. Of having fingers run through the same places Eli had staked an invisible claim.

    Viktor wasn’t sure of anything except of how not okay he was. But that's not the kind of thing you go blabbing to a complete stranger, so instead he found himself asking “Do you think Viktor deserved gold?”

    “Of course.” The boy almost sounded affronted. “Do you think he didn't?”

    “Not today.”

    “I know people have lots of opinions about Viktor’s skating, but he's been making history since he started competing. I know how hard skating is and I think he deserves every medal he earns.”

     “And you don’t resent him or anything?”

     The boy laughed softly, gentle and beautiful. “No.” The door rattled as he leaned against it. Viktor imagined their shoulders were touching the same place. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

    Viktor had had people telling him they were fans for years. Titles like ‘Living Legend’ were already starting to get attached to his name, and though he still appreciated the support, at this point most of it had lost its glamour. But there was something about hearing it from the boy that made him feel like he’d just gotten off a roller coaster, weak kneed and wanting more.

     “What’s your--”

     A shrill ringtone cut through Viktor’s question, echoing around the bathroom. “Sorry, my coach is calling,” the boy said apologetically. “I should go, but maybe I’ll see you at the Grand Prix? I hope you feel better.”

    Viktor smiled. It was weaker and more watery than usual, but for the first time today completely genuine. “I hope so. Thank you.” The sneakers disappeared from under the door, and struck by a sudden, inexplicable panic, he shoved his eye to the crack in the stall. All he could see was the same flash of black and blue as the door swung shut.

     

    Yakov and Lilia broach the topic of moving their rink to the states a week after Worlds. They don't say it, but Viktor knows it's for his sake. He doesn't think twice.

* * *

     Viktor sees Eli after his exhibition skate.

    Yakov had taken one look, read the exhaustion in his eyes, and motioned towards the door while he diverted the interviewers. Viktor gave him a nod of thanks before making his escape.

    There was a bit of a crowd outside, and with his height, silver hair, and Russian team jacket he was instantly recognizable. He pulled up his hood and ducked his head, and by some miracle escaped unscathed. It was warmer than it had been last night, but he couldn’t seem to stop shivering. The good news was that the hotel wasn’t far away, and in a few more days he’d be on a plane back to Detroit. Back to Yuuri.

    Their conversations had been one of the only things keeping him grounded. With every new fact he learned, Viktor only fell harder and deeper. Yuuri’s favorite color was blue, he used to have a poodle named Vicchan, and he’d sent a few sleep mussed selfies that Viktor treasured more than anything else on his phone. Except maybe his photos of Makkachin.

    What he really needed was a photo of Yuuri and Makkachin together. He took a moment to consider it--really consider it, and felt his heart constrict at the thought.

    On second thought, maybe the world wasn’t ready for that.

    Lost in musings of cute boys and adorable poodles, he knocked shoulders with someone and sent them stumbling into the street. “Sorry!” he said, wincing. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He looked towards the poor pedestrian he’d nearly maimed, and the words stuck in his throat.

    Eli’s eyes locked with his, expression blank. Viktor paused, half expecting him to say something, but the other boy pushed past him without so much as a second glance.

    Somehow, the silence hurt more than any words could've.


	5. Caught Up in the Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment hung in the air, the game and fact that they weren’t alone crumbling away until all that was left was Viktor. He reached up, gently brushing Yuuri’s cheek with the back of his hand. His eyes flickered to Yuuri’s lips, and Yuuri found himself holding his breath, wetting them without thinking. Viktor looked nervous, eyes closing as he leaned in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry for the delay, I'm getting ready to take entrance exams for university so it might be a few weeks before updates are back on a schedule. (Which is why replies have been so slow as well.) You might have noticed the chapter count has changed from twelve to ten--I changed a few things in the outline which means that this is now halfway to the end :)) I'm definitely planning on finishing, although like I said it might be a few weeks between chapters. As always, thank you so much for reading/commenting, and I hope you enjoy xx

    Yakov might be balding but he wasn’t stupid. He had been in love once, after all, and he knew how to recognize the signs. Georgi was always in love with someone, and Mila and Sara were the furthest from subtle two people could be. Yura, however, that was a new one.

    Otabek Altin seemed like a good kid. Quiet, hardworking, and he made Yura smile. For all he pretended he was brisk, blustering coach, Yakov was weak. He'd never admit it of course--he did have a reputation to maintain, but in many ways he thought of his skaters as his family.

    The only problem was the house rule.

    The official statement was that it would interfere with training, and while that might technically be true it wasn't close to the full story. He and Lilia had been considering moving their rink to the states for a while, and after the disaster with Eli it hadn't taken a second thought.

     Yakov and the RSU had always had a rather...turbulent relationship. He trained the best skaters in the country, but his blunt mannerisms and open mindedness had caused plenty of tension, especially when the sport in question was figure skating. He’d known about Eli long before Vitya had approached him but he honestly didn't care one way or another as long as it didn't affect his skating, he didn't have to listen to the details, and Vitya was happy. The RSU, however, would not be so cavalier if they were to find out.

    The boy already had the unique ability to piss them off more than any headache Yakov had ever coached, and he was only eighteen.

    And really, despite the somewhat obligatory complaints the RSU offered when Yakov announced his intention to relocate, they all knew it was the wisest decision.

    They really couldn’t afford another scandal, and it had been easy enough to come up with an excuse for why Vitya and Yura were banned from dating. Yakov would admit that perhaps he had been a bit hasty, but they had avoided scandals thus far so it was working. Lilia had changed the terms of the rule to Yura being able to date if Vitya did, and none of them had ever thought that was a likely scenario. For as much as Vitya was a romantic he’d never expressed a genuine desire to date again.

    Until he’d met Yuuri Katsuki, that is.

    Like with Otabek, Yakov was sure that Katsuki was a good kid. Shy, a skater with a fair amount of potential and what looked like a bad case of nerves. But then, he’d thought the same about Eli and they’d all been wrong. His own relationship with Lilia was still fraught with tension, though they’d reached a certain level of professionalism given they were living and working together.

    Lilia sat across from him, nails tapping against her coffee cup. Her hair was down; long, dark, and tangled. Yakov’s fingers twitched out of habit, instinctively wanting to brush and pin it up like he used to.

    “Yura seems discouraged over the results,” she said. “Usually he’s more focused after a competition, not less.”

    “He's having trouble finding his Agape,” Yakov said. Unfortunately, this was one area where he was lost. When it came to love he was no better than Vitya.

     Lilia pursued her lips. “That seems to be a problem with your skaters.”

    “They're yours too.”

    “Perhaps. We can only offer the tools and support we have, and it's up to them how and if they choose to implement them.”

    “You can teach jumps and technical elements, but it’s much harder to coach someone to a higher PCS.”

    “Yes.” Lilia’s eyes were cold over the top of her mug. “You can’t teach someone how to love.” It was a low blow, but admittedly deserved.

    “What do you know about Yuuri Katsuki?” he asked.

    “Yuuri Katsuki?” she repeated. “He trains with Okukawa Minako, correct?”

    “And Celestino Cialdini.”

     “That explains why his step sequences are always so elegant. Yura could do with learning a thing or two.” The chair squeaked as she leaned back, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

    “Vitya’s gone and fallen in love,” he grumbled. “With Katsuki.”

    Lilia’s eyebrows arched, sharp as her eyes were soft. “I see.”

    “House rule probably won’t apply for much longer.”

    “I suppose not.”

    “I hope that boy knows what he’s doing,” Yakov muttered, stirring his coffee vigorously.

    For the first time, a smile found it’s way into the corners of Lilia’s eyes. “He never knows what he’s doing.”

    “You can say that again.”

    Yakov knew Vitya wouldn't be careful. He never was. But he hoped for all of their sakes Katsuki would be.

* * *

 

    Otabek was well aware of the reputation he had amongst his classmates. JJ had told him he was ‘an odd one’ the first time they’d met, and though perhaps a bit blunt he hadn’t been wrong. Otabek hadn’t really minded; by nature he was more of an introvert anyway and didn’t always get along well with others. It could be lonely sometimes, but that was where Yuri came in.

    Over break he’d managed to stream Nationals and they'd Skyped a few times, but it still wasn't the same. They'd become fast friends after a near miss with Yuri’s Angels last year, and the separation had been an unwelcome reminder that while Otabek would be graduating this year Yuri would still be in high school.

    Long distance was their plan so far, but that didn't mean he relished the prospect.

     He tapped his foot against the stair, scanning the street. Yuri’s flight home had landed earlier this morning and should be due to arrive at any moment. Otabek had grown impatient waiting inside, unwilling to let an extra minute go by when they could be together.

     A car pulled into the driveway and he leaped to his feet, fingers curling inwards as his heart expanded. Yuri was sitting behind the wheel, hair pulled into a braid and yanking the key out of the ignition. His gaze met Otabek’s, and with a slam of the door he was out of the car and jumping into his arms.

     Otabek buried his nose in the other boy’s hair, closing his eyes. Yuri would always smell like home, and it had been one of the things he’d missed the most.

     “I missed you,” Yuri mumbled, burying his face deeper in Otabek’s jacket.

    At the beginning of their relationship neither of them had been the most expressive, and something lightened in his chest at how easily they could swap sentiments now. “I missed you too. Good job at Nationals,” he said, pulling away far enough to look him in the eyes.

     Yuri scowled, nose turning red. “I got second. Again.”

     “You’ll get gold at Europeans.”

     He rolled his eyes, a typical mannerism he used to deflect from genuine discomfort. “I couldn’t beat Viktor and that was only with the other Russian skaters. I’ll be lucky to make the podium.”

    Otabek frowned. He didn’t like seeing Yuri so defeated, and not for the first time he found himself cursing Viktor Nikiforov. “You’ll beat Viktor,” he said, hoping Yuri could hear the surety in his voice. “I know it.”

    “You’re just saying that.”

    Otabek’s fingers found the base of Yuri’s chin, and he tipped it upwards gently. “I mean it.”

    “Why?”

     This was an easy question. “Because I know you. Viktor is a good skater but he doesn’t have your determination. Do you remember what I told you the first time we met?”

    Yuri smiled slightly. “You said that I had the eyes of a solider.”

    Otabek nodded. “Viktor’s are too blue,” he said. The _I love you_ was implied. “They don't even come close.”

* * *

 

    The first day back had been below average so far.

     Yuuri had missed his alarm, consequently missing the bus in the rush had left his math assignment at home. Thankfully Leo had had a blank copy, and he’d managed to finish it the second before class started.

    Viktor hadn’t been in English, though Chris had said he was there today. Yuuri knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Viktor was ignoring him. He hadn’t heard back from him since Christmas, though it wasn’t for lack of trying.

    He made his way down the stairs, arms laden with books. A familiar silver head of hair was leaning against the wall, waving excitedly as soon as their eyes met. Smiling was inevitable, and he didn't even bother trying to hide it.

    “Yuuri! How was your break?”

     “Good. I had too much katsudon though. You?”

     Viktor slipped his phone in his pocket, finger tapping against his lips. “I've never had katsudon before. Is it good?”

    The question was so obvious to anyone that had ever tried it that he couldn't help but pity Viktor even having to ask. “There's a reason Yurio calls me that.”

    Viktor’s eyes lit up, and he reached out to grab his shoulders. “Where's the best katsudon?”

    Yuuri laughed. “That would be my mom--Yu-topia.”

     “What are you doing after school?”

     He blinked, thrown at the sudden change of subject. “Nothing I think?”

    “Would you like to get katsudon with me?”

    “Is this instead of coffee?” Yuuri was proud of how casual he sounded, as if going out with Viktor was something he did every week and not a prospect that made him die inside.

    “It’s a pre-coffee snack. You're not getting out of it that easily.”

    “I wouldn't dream of it,” he said honestly.  

    “So are you good for this afternoon?”

     “Okay.”

     Viktor was grinning. “Okay.”

     “I’ll see you then.” Viktor’s hand was still on his shoulder, thumb rubbing in circles. He bit his lip, eyes darting to the movement. “Um…”

      “Oh.” The boy yanked his hand away, reaching to fix his hair instead. “Sorry. I’ll meet you in the Great Room after school.”

     “Okay,” Yuuri said stupidly, because apparently being around Viktor turned his brain into unintelligible mush unable to form complex sentences. “Sure. I'll see you then.” He turned and fled in the direction of the art room before he could embarrass himself further, ducking his head.

    He only ran into the wall twice.

* * *

 

    His mother’s katsudon was always delicious, but for once he was too preoccupied to notice.

    It was strange having Viktor in his house, even if it was just the business side of the building. Not in a bad way necessarily, but he had a feeling he could get dangerously used to it.

    “Have you used chopsticks before?” he asked.

    Viktor nodded, picking them up and clicking them together. “I learned a few years ago at the Cup of China.” He picked up a piece of pork, eyeing it curiously before taking a bite. His eyes lit up before he’d even finished chewing. “Vkusno!” He shoved another bite into his mouth, humming happily.

    Yuuri laughed. Viktor’s enthusiasm was contagious, and as he caught Yuuri’s eye a warmth spread to his toes that had little to do with the nearby fire. “You like it, then?”

  “This must be what gods eat. And you can have this every day?”

   “I used to just eat it whenever I won a competition.”

    Viktor set his chopsticks down, eyeing him curiously. “But you've eaten it recently?”

    Yuuri nodded. “I did for Christmas as a treat, but before that it hadn't been since Nationals last year.”

    “You won that year, didn't you?”

     He frowned. Not that it was a bad thing, necessarily, but he was surprised to learn that Viktor had been aware of his underwhelming skating career in any context. It wasn't like he was a threat or anything. “I did.”

    “So why didn't you decide to participate again this year?” Viktor words left no room to hide, and the intensity of his stare even less. Yuuri resisted the urge to sink down underneath the table.

    “I couldn't shake off my failures,” he said, staring down at his bowl. “I knew it would make me even more anxious than I normally am, and there was no point in going.”

    Viktor was silent, chopsticks frozen and stare still locked on him. He tilted his head, smiling. It was the same, worn out expression Yuuri had seen him wearing during Nationals, and something inside him sunk at the thought that Viktor was still pretending with him. “What else do you like to do?” Viktor asked. “Outside of skating?”

    “Why are you smiling like that?” Yuuri blurted. He froze, clamping a horrified hand over his mouth. “I'm sorry.”

    “Smiling like what?” Viktor asked. His tone was serene, but there was a careful look to his expression.

    “Like you're just pretending.” Yuuri took a deep breath, hand fisting in his shirt. “I do that too, sometimes. Smile and pretend everything’s okay even if it's not, so I get where you're coming from. But I don't want you to pretend around me. I want you to stay who you are!”

    A piece of pork fell out of Viktor’s chopsticks and dropped back in his bowl. “You never fail to surprise me,” he said softly.

    Yuuri flushed. “I always told Yuuko you were a never ending chain of surprises,” he said. “How could I possibly surprise _you_?”

    “You keep reminding me of what's important; not many people do that. I was just thinking that you still don’t give yourself enough credit both as a skater and as a person, and that as your coach I need to do a better job.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, it was an honest question. What do you like to do?”

    “I game sometimes, and I like to dance. I used to play the piano but I didn't have time with skating too.”

    “Ballet?”

    “I started with ballet, but now I’ve done break dancing, ballroom dancing, pole dancing--”

    Viktor eyes were wide, and he held up a hand. “Wait, say that last one again?”

     Yuuri sighed. “It’s very good for your core strength,” he said defensively.

    “I was just wondering how you got into it. I’ve only met a few people that can, but I think it’s cool.”

     “Minako-sensei needed help with one of her classes, and I said I’d stay after to help.”

     “Can you show me sometime?”

    Yuuri hesitated. If Viktor had asked any differently he might’ve thought he was making fun of him or that he had ulterior motives, but he sounded completely genuine. “Maybe,” he said finally. “What do you like to do?”

    Viktor leaned back in his seat, shrugging. “Skating.”

   “Besides skating.”

    “Training? Ballet whenever Yakov makes me? I don’t know.” He trailed off, gaze settling somewhere over Yuuri’s shoulder and taking on a wistful air. “I guess I haven’t spent much time on anything outside of skating.”

     “Anything?”

    “Skating and school,” he amended. “I guess...I like to read? If I ever have the time I’d like to finish _Harry Potter_.”

     Yuuuri blinked at him owlishly. He didn’t mean to make Viktor feel like an outsider, but there were very few people he’d met that had never read or at least watched _Harry Potter._

    Viktor laughed. “I know. I just don’t have time to do everything I wish I could, you know?”

    “Not really.” Yuuri loved skating, but he’d always found a way to balance that, school, and his other activities outside of it. Besides, Phichit thought he didn‘t get out enough as it was. “What about school functions?”

     “I go to those whenever I have to, but they’re not my favorite.” Viktor line of sight dropped towards the table, and he stirred his rice around idly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Yuuri, but I have a lot of...fans...at school.”

    Yuuri resisted the urge to snort. _A lot_ was putting it lightly. “I’ve noticed.”

    Viktor’s lips curled up in a pale imitation of a smile. “I appreciate my fans, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t be here without them, and they’ve always been kind. But sometimes they’re not the most respectful.” He sighed. “Or even if they are they make a lot of assumptions about me. Who I love, what I like to do, what kind of person I am. It’s exhausting sometimes to be around people that always want you to be everything except yourself.”

     Yuuri would see where he was coming from. Over the years he’d certainly wished he could mold himself into a _better_ version of himself, but unlike Viktor no one other than himself had ever put pressure to change. “I’m sorry,”

     “It’s not your fault. Actually, that’s one of the reasons why I like being with you with so much.”

    Yuuri’s heart stopped. “Being with me?”

    “You’ve told me over and over that you don’t want anything expect for me to be who I am. It's incredibly refreshing.”

    Warmth blossomed behind his chest. It was nice to know he could help Viktor at least a little, although he certainly didn’t deserve the praise given he had been one of said fans only a few months ago. He’d never even stopped to consider what it might be like to be on the other end. “Thank you,” he said. “But I think you have it wrong.”

    Viktor frowned. “What do you mean?”

    “You seem to think I’m--different or something, but I used to think those things, too.” He could feel his face steadily growing hotter, and he clenched his hand into a fist until his nails dug into his skin. “I’m sorry.”

    “Yuuri. Look at me.” Slowly, he lifted his head. Viktor didn’t look angry or upset at all, on the contrary he looked as if Yuuri had hung the moon for him.

“You don’t feel that way anymore, right?”

    “No. They were wrong about everything.” Yuuri paused. “Almost everything. You are kind, and nice to your fans, but you’re more that too.”

     “We didn’t know each other until recently, so it’s not your fault. Before now all I knew about you was that you skated,and were cute.” Viktor’s phone buzzed on the table beside him and he glanced down with a distasteful expression, sighing. “Sorry, Yakov wants me back to talk about Europeans but I had a really nice time. Thank you for inviting me.”

   Yuuri set down his chopsticks, trying to swallow his disappointment. It wasn’t strong enough to eclipse the fact that Viktor had just called him cute, though. “I’ll walk you out. Yutopia is bigger than it looks.” Not exactly true, but another moment with Viktor was always one he’d take. He stood, Viktor moving beside him and grabbing his hand.

     “So I don’t get lost,” he explained. “Yutopia is bigger than it looks.”

    Yuuri smiled, heat jumping back to his face and staining it bright red. He lead Viktor out of the dining room and through the lobby, the other boy’s grip grounding as they dodged through the crowds. Thankfully they didn’t run into Mari--he wasn’t sure how he would’ve explained the situation if she’d seen.  

     He pushed the door open, gesturing outside grandly. “We made it.”  
     Viktor frowned. “I never payed for our meal, did I? I’m sorry.”

     “That’s okay,” Yuuri said. Somehow he was brave enough to add “You can make it up to me next time.”

     Viktor stared at him with a smile that could only be described as fond. He pulled him into a hug, lips cool against his forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Yuuri.”

 

     His forehead burned long after they parted ways.

* * *

 

    Guilt was not a feeling Yuri was used to. Nor was it one he particularly liked. Viktor had spent the weekend strangely quiet, but he had seen him staring at the pictures from the party enough times to know that something was up with Katsudon.

    From what he’d heard, the two had spent the evening having dinner and making eyes at each other. He couldn't help but feel proud that he'd been right in assuming that they would make a good couple, enough to go on dates without Yurio’s prompting anyway.

    The problem was, now he didn't know what to do. Viktor agreeing to go to prom didn’t seem like something Yurio needed to worry about anymore, but there was no guarantee Katsudon felt the same way. It was possible he would dump Viktor completely if Yurio stopped paying him, and after Viktor’s reaction to seeing Eli at Nationals that wasn't something he was willing to risk, more for Viktor’s sake than his own.

    He grimaced, tugging on the end of his braid. He was sure Katsudon wouldn't _intentionally_ hurt Viktor, but they were both oblivious idiots and there was no telling what would happen. None of that reasoning was strong enough to assuage his lingering feelings of guilt, but he didn't see another way out of the situation.

    They were all in too deep to turn back now.

* * *

 

    Yuuri set his jaw, eyes narrowing as he pushed off the ice--only to fall short of his landing once again and land squarely on his ass. He groaned, partly in pain and mostly in frustration. He'd been working on the salchow all afternoon and had yet to make a clean landing, or even a landing of any kind.

   A voice broke the silence of the rink, snarky and unapologetic. “That's not how you do it.” If the tone didn't give it away, the bluntness of the words certainly did.

    Yuuri pushed himself upright, glancing in Yurio’s direction wryly. “I kind of guessed as soon as I hit the ground.”

   “If you don't think you can land it how is anyone else supposed to?”

    “I mean, I _can’t_ land it.”

    Yurio’s glare took on a disbelieving note, as if he couldn’t believe Yuuri was that stupid. “Here, Watch me.” Yuuri moved towards the edge of the ice, Yurio gliding to the center. The boy’s mouth thinned in concentration as he began to skate, jumping into a perfect quadruple salchow. Despite himself, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel a spark of envy. He’d never been a natural at anything, and skating seemed to come as easily to Yurio as it did to Viktor.

    “See? Like that.” The younger boy crossed his arms, satisfaction evident in his smile. “Now you try.”

    “Yurio--”

    “Well? Are you going to do it or not?”

    Yuuri sighed, sliding past Yurio and beginning to skate. He hoped the boy wouldn’t be too disappointed when he failed; why he had so much faith in him in the first place he had no idea. He took a deep breath, eyes closing momentarily before launching himself into the air. From the takeoff he knew he wasn’t going to make it. His skate went out from underneath him, and with a startled gasp he landed flat on his stomach.

    “The hell was that?” Yurio snapped. He stopped directly in front of Yuuri’s face, digging his toe pick into the ice furiously. If Yuuri didn’t know any better he’d almost say he looked upset

    “I’m sorry.”

    Yurio scowled. “Stop saying you're sorry.”

    “I’m sorry.” Yuuri blinked. “Sorry--I’m not sorry. Wait. That’s not what I meant. I--”

    “Don't apologize. Just do better.” Yurio looked as if he were going to march away before seeming to think better of it. “Viktor said you were thinking of retiring.”

    Yuuri faltered under the boy’s glare. “I wasn’t--I haven’t decided yet. I thought that’s what you wanted.” Last year, Yurio had cornered him and told him to just quit already because they didn’t need two Yuris in the same age bracket, particularly pigs like him.

     The other skater’s nose wrinkled. “I was trying to encourage you,” he said crossly. “I wasn’t _serious_.”

     Sometimes Yuuri forgot how young Yurio was. Not that he was that much older himself, but with his brash attitude and air of confidence it was easy to think he was far older than he was. “Oh,” he said lamely.

    “Are you doing anything tomorrow?” Yurio asked abruptly.

    “I don’t think so. Why?”

    “Otabek and I are playing laser tag and Viktor has to come.”

    Yuuri pressed his lips together. “So you need me to take him?”

    “I’ll pay for you. And give you the money from the other night.”

    At this point, Yuuri didn’t know what he was still doing with Yurio. He was well aware that what he was doing wasn’t right, but so far he’d had Viktor’s attention long enough to form a tentative friendship. There was no guarantee Yurio wouldn't tell Viktor about their deal if he refused, and if he did find out he probably wouldn’t want to be friends with Yuuri for much longer.

     He sighed, running a hand through his hair wearily. “What time and where?”

* * *

 

    Yuuri couldn’t remember the last time he'd played laser tag. He thought it was probably at Yuuko’s birthday a few years ago, but all he knew for sure was that he hadn’t been very good. There was a reason he was a skater.

    He hoped maybe he’d magically gotten better over the years, but as he stood in front of the door with Viktor, Yurio, and Otabek, he decided his only goal was to not completely embarrasses himself.

    “I’m with Katsudon,” Yurio announced. “Otabek can’t aim and Viktor never listens.”

   “How do you know I’ll be either of those things?”

    Yurio shrugged, handing him a vest. “I guess we’ll find out.”

    Yuuri swallowed, pulling on the vest and clutching his gun tightly. Shoot anything that moved, don’t get hit, and remember to recharge the gun. How hard could it be, really? Viktor flashed him a thumbs up as he disappeared through the door, and he gave one back with shaking hands.  

    Yurio beckoned him into the room, ducking behind one of the mats and crouching down.

    “What’s the plan?” Yuuri whispered.

    “You go to the left, and I’ll go the right.” We’ll try to corner them.”

    Yuuri frowned. After all Yurio had talked about wanting Viktor to listen to him he’d expected something...grander. “Is that it?”

    “What do you mean is that it?” Yurio snapped. “Do you want to win or not?”

    He shrugged. “Okay. I'm sure you'd know better than me anyway.”

 

 

    Yurio did not know better.

    With ten minutes left to the game, he'd finally given up on yelling directions and just told Yuuri to shoot at everything and hope he hit something.

   Yuuri readjusted his grip on his gun, lifting it higher and sprinting for the next barrier. A shadow detached itself from the wall and mirrored his movements, and he tensed as Viktor drew closer. He could still bring this back. They had time.

    He threw himself into the open, firing furiously and already cringing in anticipation at the return volley. His gun started flashing, the beep of low battery making him halt.  He grimaced, scanning his surroundings for anywhere to hide long enough to regroup. The nearest escape was in front of him and blocked by Viktor, and there was no way he’d make it past unscathed.

     Then again, he was already dying just standing here, and maybe if he was fast enough Viktor wouldn’t see it coming. He took a deep breath, taking off into a run.

    Somehow he’d managed to forget that he was wearing socks and greatly miscalculated his momentum. With an undignified yelp, he lost his footing and barreled into Viktor, sending the two of them flying. They landed on the mats, guns tossed somewhere to the left and his nose wedged in the other boy’s armpit.

    “Sorry!” he said weakly, wondering if it was too soon to give up on life.

     Viktor laughed, the vibration of his voice making Yuuri fully aware of close they were. “It’s fine. I think we still won anyway.” He shifted enough for Yuuri to free himself, looking down at him with the same, increasingly affectionate smile from their outing last week. The moment hung in the air, the game and fact that they weren’t alone crumbling away until all that was left was Viktor.

    He reached up, gently brushing Yuuri’s cheek with the back of his hand. His eyes flickered to Yuuri’s lips, and Yuuri found himself holding his breath, wetting them without thinking. Viktor looked nervous, eyes closing as he leaned in.

    Yuuri jerked away as though he’d been burnt, pushing the other boy off of him and stumbling backwards. Hurt flickered across Viktor’s expression and Yuuri climbed to his feet, pressing himself against the mats and struggling to catch his breath. Viktor still hadn’t moved, staring at him silently. Something in his eyes hardened, and that knowledge that he was closing himself off again because of something _Yuuri_ had done hurt the most.

     “I’m sorry,” he managed, tearing his gaze away. The timer sounded for the end of the game, and he picked up his gun, running for the exit as fast as he could.


End file.
